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some-bunniii · 10 months ago

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Lucifer saves you from a cult

・❥ You’re about to be sacrificed for a satanic ritual, until a handsome, charming stranger comes to your rescue.

~9.5k words

x: reader is g/n, no use of y/n. wanted to play around with the cult concept again, but this time much less angsty. had fun with this one, hope you enjoy!

warning: sexual themes, cult stuff

The first thing you remembered when you awoke, blind and dazed, was the thick, musty scent of damp earth.

The air tasted stagnant on your tongue, as you parted your lips to wet the cracked, delicate skin. Throat dry, quenched of thirst, and stomach growling softly, you lifted your cheek from the cold dirt.

Where were you? How did you get here?

The fabric against your eyes prevented you from recognizing anything in your surroundings, the only object visibly present was the warm, orange glow that peeked through the blindfold tied around your head. It flickered with life, a dancing light that you could only guess was a lamp of some kind.

Thin, plastic restraints kept your wrists bound tightly behind your back, dull pain radiating from where they dug into your skin.

Dull pain radiated from where they dug into your skin. For a few moments, you laid perfectly still, using your remaining senses to listen for anyone or anything in the vicinity. Still, you were rewarded with nothing and no clue of your whereabouts.

Slowly, you rolled onto your back and awkwardly shifted to sit on your knees. You turned your head, facing the dull light flickering softly behind the cloth against your eyes. What now? Head towards the light, or away from it?

Your breath quickened, heart pounding as the situation began to settle in your mind. Someone kidnapped you, bound you, and then left you here in the dark for whatever gruesome fate was coming. Unless this was some kind of weird surprise party pulled by a friend, there was no way whoever was near had good intentions.

Almost on cue, footsteps echoed somewhere far off to your right, closing in on your location. You tensed, holding in a breath as you shrunk to the ground. Then, a second set of footsteps entered the vicinity, closing in on your location.

They seemed to have arrived somewhere right in front of you, but were obscured by something, perhaps a wall as the footsteps halted.

“Hail Satan,” A low, masculine voice echoed into your ears.

“Hail Satan,” the other replied, as if in greeting, “Is the sacrifice ready?”

What did he say? Satan? Sacrifice?

“Yes,” the other hissed with delight, “Once we finish the preparations at the main chamber, we will deliver them cleansed and ready to the prophet.”

Were they talking about you?

“Let's hope this year turns out to be successful, we’ve already sacrificed the lamb already” the other grumbled, shifting beneath a large “Good job keeping an eye out all night, but Brother Erik has requested your presence. He is waiting for us near the goat pen.”

“Of course. The sleeping agent we used was highly potent, they shouldn’t awaken for another couple of hours,” the man replied, and you heard footsteps receding from the scene, the shuffling of gravel fading in the distance as you exhaled a breath of relief.

This was bad, really bad. You needed to get out of here, now.

Leaning forward, your forehead hit the ground as you dragged your face across the dirt. The blindfold was forcibly peeled off your eyes, and they flew open as soon as you rose back onto your knees. You blinked, turning your head to observe the strange scene, heart pounding.

Rough, stone walls encircled you, the small torch attached to the wall cast orange light across the room, revealing a row of large barrels and wooden boxes marked with strange symbols. You were in a cave, these strange men dragged you underground?

There didn’t seem to be anything to break your bindings, and the only way out was a small human-sized gap in the rocks that glowed softly with the same orange light as the torch nearby. Maybe, if you were careful enough, you’d be able to slip away undetected and find a way out.

Slowly you rose unsteadily to your feet, taking a final, deep breath as you took a step toward the cave's exit. There were definitely torches outside, and from what you could see the walls were still rocky. A tunnel? It would be difficult with your hands bound, but at least it would be lit and you could use the torches as a guide.

Right as you crossed the threshold, your body connected with another equally firm, but squishy being as they ran into you with surprised oof.

You froze for a moment, your brain kicking into survival mode and your body instinctively using a leg to shove the stranger backwards, before reeling away.

“Don’t come any closer!” You shouted, and the hooded figure jumped at your outburst, raising his hands towards you and shaking his head vigorously as you stumbled backward.

“Shhhhh!” He hissed, his yellow gaze practically glowing from underneath the dark hood as he advanced on you quickly, “They are going to hear us!”

Your back hit the wall, and you winced in pain as jutted rocks dug into your back. That was the least of your concerns though, as you opened your mouth to scream again right as the robed man reached you, before he lifted a hand to clamp around your mouth.

His palm was warm, hot to the touch even as they were planted firmly against your lips. His face was inches from yours, but in the barely lit room, it was just his usual-colored eyes that you could make out underneath the hood.

“Just keep quiet while I—”

You didn’t give your attacker time to get any closer, before you parted your lips and jerked your head harshly to the side. You chomped mercilessly down onto his skin, his fingers in between your teeth as you thrashed.

The hooded figure yelped, pulling his hand away from your face with furrowed brows as his gaze flicked from his hand to your angry figure.

“You bit me!” He cried, rubbing his fingers with a small frown as you rose to your feet, arms still bound behind your back as you glared at him with ferocity.

“And I’ll do it again!” You retorted, straightening your posture as you rose to full height.

“Quiet! I’m trying to help you!” He whispered, turning his head to check the open doorway before meeting your gaze again.

“Help me? Dressed like that?” You laughed, your eyes lowering to the upside-down cross tied around his neck and the pentagram sewn on the sleeves of his robe.

“I know, I know, it looks bad,” The stranger growled at himself, backing away closer to the torch to give you space, “But, if you turn around so I can get those bindings off you, I can prove I’m here to help.”

“You really expect me to turn my back to you?” You laughed in disbelief.

“If you don’t want to, I can just… leave,” He finally shrugged.

“Leave?”

“Yep, out that doorway right there,” he pointed behind him, and the glow from the torch nearby was beginning to reveal his features, and you could see the hint of a smile on his face.

Was he really being truthful? Fuck, it was a 50/50 shot. You bit your lip painfully, deep in thought. Finally, you sighed, facing the rock wall away from the stranger, your wrists exposed to him.

You felt the hairs on your forearms raise like static, before you felt its familiar, painful tiny shock against your wrists. You flinched just as the bindings snapped, slipping from your raw skin onto the ground beneath.

You gasped softly, freedom finally in your grasp as you lifted your hands to rub at the stinging marks rubbed into your skin.

He was closer, now, but not close enough to cut your restraints. That was odd, did you bite him that hard he backpedaled as soon as you were free?

“See? No harm done?” He smiled innocently at you, before he backed away to the cave’s entrance.

Slowly, you followed, taking closer and closer steps towards the figure, mind racing.

What if you bolted? Pretend to follow the man and make a mad dash for the exit as soon as the chance arose. You could outrun a couple of satanic-worshiping old geezers, couldn’t you?

Except, he promised to help you, and seeing as you took a nasty chomp at his hand and he was still trying to free you… maybe, sticking close to this guy wasn’t too bad of an idea.

As you neared the entrance, the stranger turned to you, and the torchlight finally lit up his face. You almost stopped dead with shock, as your eyes traced over his features.

His porcelain skin practically glowed in the dim environment, like starlight on fresh snow. You’ve never seen a man so white before, and never so gorgeous either. His supple, plump lips curved slightly at your reaction, a hint of amusement in those odd, yellow eyes that seemed to suck you in without resistance.

A few strands of sun-kissed hair stuck out from the hood of his robe, and they curled delicately against his forehead, splayed messily. Have you ever seen such blond locks either?

And, was he wearing makeup? Those rosy-red spots on his cheek looked like a bad application of blush, as they stuck out like twin targets from his pearlescent complexion. Even with those odd cheek spots, it only accentuated his ethereal, otherworldly aura.

“Are you okay?” Pretty Boy’s words broke you from your thoughts, and you stopped mindlessly rubbing at your wrists. You halted right in front of him, his small figure blocking the way as you met his gaze.

“Sorry?” You finally asked.

Slowly, he lifted a finger and reached it towards the painful, thin outline of the tight binds that had bound you for most of the evening.

“Does it hurt?” He whispered, his brows furrowed with an unreadable expression. Anger? Pity? You weren’t quite sure as you stood there frozen, his finger just about to brush against your skin.

You could practically feel the warmth radiating off his figure, a wave of serenity washed over you, and you made no move to pull away. Your savior didn’t make it very far before he hesitated pulling back his hand before exhaling a deep breath. He reached into his robe and extended a neatly folded twin outfit towards you, beckoning for you to take it.

“Here, put this on. It’ll keep your face hidden as we move.”

You wanted to open your mouth, ask him about his hesitancy, but instead you silently took the garment from his frame and slipped it on. The robe was scratchy, but you weren’t going to complain as you lifted the thick hood over your head and pulled it forward to settle right above your eyes.

“Perfect,” The stranger smiled reassuringly at you, before turning towards the doorway, “Now come on, let’s get going before they notice you’re gone.”

“Who are you?” The words left your lips as you stayed frozen in place, watching the man intensely as he halted in his tracks.

“Oh, right, let’s rewind here,” he laughed, pivoting on his heel to face you, bowing slightly, “My name is Lou, not short for anything, just Lou.”

Lou. That was a cute name.

“What about you?”

“Get me out of this hellhole, Lou, and I’ll give you my social security number,” you responded dryly, brushing past him to poke your head out of the gap of the cave's entryway.

“Feisty, aren’t we?” he quirked a brow, his lips curving into a playful smile, “I respect your determination to live.”

You turned your head slightly to shoot the handsome man a glare, before you strained your ears, listening for any of hints human activity.

The tunnels were dimly lit, save for the glow from the torches nailed to the sides of the tunnel. You could hear conversations in the distance, echoing against the tunnel's walls as they reached your ears. Lou stuck his head out next to you, glowing eyes squinting as he stared down the darkened pathways.

“I think we’re good, let's go,” He whispered, before slipping past you and into the tunnel. With one last, shaky breath, you followed Lou out into the cavernous hall.

“Why are we going toward the voices?” You questioned quietly, inching closer to him for comfort as the two of you strolled down the tunnel.

“Your prison is on the farthest side of the main cave’s entrance,” he replied, turning his head to meet your gaze, “We’ll have to cross through a couple of crowded rooms before we can get out of here, but don’t worry, I know how everything works around here. We’ll be fine.”

You didn’t reply, instead lifting your gaze towards the cave’s ceiling. Jagged, branching rocks hung like icicles above your head, glowing faintly with orange light from the torches below. How easily could these things break off and fall? Would they bring you a quicker death than at the hands of the cultists?

“The cave system goes way deeper than just these smaller tunnels, ” Lucifer continued as he kept pace beside you, “These guys basically hit the jackpot when their founder first discovered the place an odd hundred-something years ago, haven’t let go of it since.”

“They’ve been doing this for a while?” you whispered hoarsely.

How many people have been murdered inside these tunnels, forced to endure such pain and torture just to please some make-believe goat-man that frolics around in a pit of fire and death? The delusion was unmatched, and the inhumanness even more.

“Oh, yeah!” Lou nodded, recounting the memories of his past attendings, “It’s like Coachella, but for cultists. They gather from all over the place to worship beings of indescribable evils and partake in all different kinds of rituals. Much more than just the human sacrifices, like the–”

“–you’re telling me you come here, again and again, to witness these human sacrifices?” Your head snapped in Lou’s direction, an icy glare meeting his widening eyes as he clamped his mouth shut.

“Well, yes—but no!” Lou shook his head vigorously, taking a step backward as you strode forward, anger reignited in your gaze as you bared your teeth.

“How do I know you’re not going to kill me?” You continued to advance towards Lou, pointing an accusatory finger towards him.

“What?!” He sputtered.

“For all I know, you could be leading me to my death!” Your voice was shaky, the weight of the situation dawning on you with the realization everything here was real, not some crazy dream.

“B-but I saved you!” Lou pressed himself flush against the rock wall as you closed the distance, practically chest-to-chest with the man. He tensed at your proximity, breath hitched with wide eyes at your looming figure.

“So?” You growled, taking a finger and jabbing him in the chest, and his frown deepened, “This could be one final cruel, sick joke to bring my guard down before you tie me to a stake! Can’t slaughter the cattle when they're scared, right? Or else it poisons the meat!”

God, he was so good-looking up close. It distracted your verbal attack on Lou just for a moment as you felt the temptation to see how much better it would get if you ripped that stupid hood from his head.

It felt like some otherworldly power was pulling you to stare dumbly at his perfect features. As if he was some kind of siren beckoning you to take a closer look. If you did get any closer, however, you’d practically be lip-to-lip with him. Which, if you were being honest, didn’t sound like such a bad idea…

An invisible hand lifted to slap you hard across the face, before waggling a finger at your lack of self-respect. Why were you thinking about this?! You were about to die and the only thing on your mind was how good-looking this guy was!

“I know you’re scared,” Lou’s soft words broke the silence. You tensed, finger still mid-jab against his chest as he met your gaze.

“This must be a lot for you to take in,” he continued, taking a small step forward from the cavern wall, his brows furrowed in anguish, “But I promise, I don't come here to party with these sickos. I sneak in here to save the people that they kidnap, like you.”

Is that why those cultists were hoping the sacrificial ritual would go smoothly tonight? Had Lou been sabotaging their plans year after year?

The anger drained from your face, and you took a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves. You needed to pull yourself together, lest you wanted some cultist to find you having a mental breakdown or murdering someone out in the open like this.

“I’m here to help you. Please, just let me help.” Lou continued, and you met his gaze again.

Slowly, he lifted a hand, a gesture of peace, a physical promise that you would live to see morning. You looked at the much darker appendage with hesitation, your eyes flicking to Lou and then back to his hand.

“Trust me?” Lou pleaded, the tone in his voice sounded genuine, and kind as he stared at you with round, puppy-dog eyes. It was becoming increasingly hard to deny such a pretty face, and you sighed softly in defeat.

Slowly, you reach out and slip your fingers into his palm. His thumb lifted to grip your wrist softly, and you flinched slightly in pain. Lou withdrew his digit instantly, growling softly to himself at your reaction before his fingers wrapped around your thumb and forefinger in an awkward, clumsy handhold.

That familiar, soothing warmth from his touch was welcoming, as it seeped into your skin and sent you another dose of serenity. Your racing heart began to slow as Lou tugged you moving again.

Then, you heard voices growing louder at the end of the tunnel, near a large crack in the wall that seemed to be an entrance to another cave. Two shadows loomed around the small corner, and you held your breath, head lowered as they came into view. Lucifer squeezed your hand reassuringly, before two matching robed figures strolled past.

“Hail Satan,” the men greeted in unison.

“Hail Satan,” Lou replied in a deepened, masculine tone. Even in such a tense moment, the surprise at how dorky he sounded had you smiling underneath the hood.

The cultists passed by with no suspicions, and you sighed softly with relief, confidence slowly gaining. As long as you keep your head down, keep your identity concealed, the rest of the cultists won’t question a thing. Not to mention, if Lou was telling the truth about coming here for years, he knew how to best placate these freaks if the time came.

Soon, the two of you came upon a large opening, an entrance to another, much larger cave than the one you had been held in. You could see large flames flickering inside the room, voices reverberating against the rock. A few figures sat near the entryway, but slowly slipped inside the cave as you and Lou rounded the corner.

The voices grew louder, speaking in an ominous, strange tongue that made goosebumps erupt across your skin. Prayers of some kind as you saw bodies bent low to the ground, all facing something hidden behind the cavern’s walls.

Sweat was pooling in your palm, and you began to breathe heavily at the proximity of such a large group of robed men chanting softly inside. Their synchronized, baritone prayers rang in your ears, and your heart only quickened its pace.

An entire room full of these guys? This was a little much. You imagined just sneaking down the tunnel and being home free, not coming face to face with the entire cult. Could you really keep up a believable act that you were one of them?

Lou’s head twisted to watch you hyperventilate softly, your eyes zeroed in on the entryway as your thoughts raced. His brows furrowed, and his free hand began to dig inside his robe. After a few moments, his fingers wrapped around something small as he pulled his hand out and lifted his head to meet your gaze.

“Here, take this,” Lou extended an enclosed fist towards you, and your brows furrowed just as he revealed the object snug in his palm.

It was a yellow rubber ducky, like those old toys you used to play with in the bathtub. It stared at you with a permanent, frozen-beaked smile, innocent to the dark, sinister atmosphere circling the trio.

“... What is that?” You tilted your head, smiling slightly at the odd reveal.

“Just a little trinket of my creation,” Lou replied, holding it farther towards you, “I always bring this little guy along with me on trips up here, but I think you need it more than me right now.”

Your eyes widened slightly, gaze flicking from Lou’s large, shark-like smile–which was weird, but not the weirdest thing you’ve seen tonight–to the rubber duck in his hand.

Slowly, you reached forward, wrapping your fingers around the toy. Your skin softly brushed against Lou’s as you retracted your hand, before inspecting the little yellow duck.

Did he notice your anxiety about going inside? You were surprised Lou was being so caring, giving you something personal of his to help ease your nerves. Why would he bring this with him to places like this? Did he bring them for people like you, or him?

You squeezed your fingers around the duck’s little body, and as the air expelled from out of its mouth, it quacked softly, barely echoing against the rocks. You squeezed it again right as you inhaled, and released the duck when you exhaled. Slowly, you began to control your breathing and settle your racing heart. You pushed the negative thoughts out of your mind, before looking up to Lou.

“Did you say you made this?”

“Yes, It’s no big deal, though,” he shrugged bashfully, averting his gaze, “Just something I tweak on whenever I’m bored, nothing special.”

“Well, I think it's… cute.” You said slowly, brushing a thumb over the duck’s head.

“Really?” His lips curved upward, his eyes moving from your hand to meet your genuine gaze,

“Yes, and impressive. I could never do something like this, especially making the squeak sound so similar to a quack.” you nodded, matching his smile.

“It does more than just quack!” He said excitedly, a playful glint in his eye, “But first, we have to get out of here.”

You nodded, tucking the ducky underneath your sleeve as Lou turned toward the entryway. You followed him up the large crevice, before slipping inside.

Tall fires licked at the air on either side of the large cavern. Robed men sat in neat, organized lines, their bodies lowered to the ground, heads bowed submissively towards the large painting on the wall.

It depicted a white-furred goat, standing on two hooves, overlooking a sea of fire that expanded out into the distance. His horns were large, and they wrapped around his ears like a ram as his sinister red eyes stared into your soul.

Your fingers wrapped tighter around the rubber ducky inside your sleeve, and you tentatively squeezed it. It barely made an audible noise compared to the chorus of voices, and you began to use it as a fidget toy to calm your rising nerves.

You averted your gaze from the painting, head lowering slightly as you scooched between kneeling bodies along the back wall, hand still entwined with Lou’s as he slipped past the robed figures.

“Is that supposed to be Satan? The guy that rules Hell and everything?” You whispered to Lou, who stopped in his tracks to face you.

“Well, no. Satan doesn’t rule Hell, Lucifer does,” He sighed, shaking his head, “I mean, I understand these people choosing the ugly one to rule a place like that, but seriously, if you’re going to dedicate your entire life to worshiping a guy, make sure you’re at least getting the name right.”

‘I wonder what Lucifer looks like in comparison, but I'm sure anything would be better looking than that thing,’ you thought, glancing back at the demonic goat-man wall painting with a quirked brow.

“Satan would also make a terrible ruler,” Lou continued, turning away from you to continue sneaking through the worshippers, “It would be like putting a pyromaniac in charge of a fireworks facility, chaos ensues… and not the fun kind.”

You weren’t going to question why he seemed so matter-of-fact about that, as the two of you made it to the other side of the cavern, near another exit.

A small group of robbed men were passing by, and as you scooted over to give them room to pass by, one of them rammed into you, shoving you back by your shoulder to make room.

You were about to turn on your heel and snap at the man, before you felt Lou tug you faster through the remaining crowd.

“Watch out,” he teasingly called to the man behind you, but quiet enough for only you to hear, “They bite!”

You resisted the urge to elbow Lou in the side, and instead shot him a playful glare, trying to hide the upward curve of your lips. He only snickered softly, pulling you through the exit and out of that dreadful cave.

“There, that wasn’t so bad, right?” Lou turned to you, smiling softly as he released your hand.

That comforting warmth left your skin and something deep down whined for his touch again. You shook those thoughts away as you met his gaze, nodding in agreement.

“Yes, I thought they were going to be much more suspicious. Is that the last cave we have to go through?”

“We have like.. two more?” Lou said, partially to himself as he recalled the route, “It shouldn’t be much longer, don’t worry.”

You groaned internally, adjusting the hood around your head before following Lou down the tunnel. At one point, he had taken one of the torches from the wall, holding it in his hand as the two of you walked along the quiet path.

“Do you make anything else than these ducks?” You filled the silence, your thumb absentmindedly brushing against the plastic body of the toy in your sleeve.

“I used to,” Lou replied after a moment, his chipper tone dampening slightly, “More than just silly toys. I once created great things that benefited the entirety of humanity, until…”

“Until?” You prodded gently.

“Let's just say some things don’t turn out how we expect them to,” he replied somberly.

You couldn’t see his face, but you were sure he was frowning underneath the hood. If you would have known that topic was a sour spot for him, you wouldn’t have brought it up. Lou’s face was so handsome with a smile, your brain was prodding for you to do something about it.

You opened your mouth to speak, to say something at least. Words weren’t able to leave your lips before another large crack in the wall, followed by the sound of deep voices once more came into view.

The opening was glowing a bright orange, a much larger fire flickering inside the cavern as Lou slowed right before the entrance. Thunder erupted from the cave, and you jumped. Listening for a few moments longer, you realized the sound was emanating from large drums inside. They boomed in rhythm with the strange chorus reaching your ears from the entrance.

They were so loud the floor was vibrating softly beneath your feet, and you struggled to understand Lou when he turned to you, speaking something before slipping into the cave. Hastily, you followed him through the crevice, slipping past the jutting rocks that pulled against your garment.

“Wait!” You wrapped your fingers around the fabric of Lou’s robe, halting his movements rights you passed through the threshold.

As you stepped into the cavern, the heat from the large fire washed over you, and the rhythmic beat of drums pounded in your chest. The air was thick with the scent of burning wood, and something else indescribable, something primal that made the hair along your arms rise.

Before you was a scene straight out of a horror movie. Robed figures swayed and danced around the towering flames in the center of the cavern, their movements erratic yet somehow synchronized. Their robes, adorned with demonic symbols and intricate patterns, billowed around them as they moved.

There were so many cultists partaking in whatever weird, dancing ritual they were performing that the moving crowd stretched to the walls. There would be no slipping by this time, and you gulped softly at the sight.

Lou watched you silently, an unreadable expression on his pretty face as you turned to meet his gaze.

“The fastest way to get through here is to join them. We should hurry, I’m sure they’ve noticed you’re gone by now.”

Join them? As in, dance with these weirdos until you reach the other side of the cave?

You were about to laugh, pat Lou on the shoulder for the good joke, until you saw his face. It was dead serious, save for the way his lip was beginning to curve upwards into a playful smirk.

“Sorry to burst your bubble, but I can’t dance,” you shook your head with a humorless laugh, slowly backing towards the mouth of the chamber, “This is crazy, I’m not going out there.”

The chanting of baritone voices filled your ears as spinning, cloaked figures circled the large fire, completely entranced in their satanic waltz as Lucifer’s smirk widened.

“Don’t worry, I got this,” he spoke confidently, wrapping gentle fingers around your hands as he tugged you forward, closer to the dancing circle.

For a moment you thought of fighting back and ripping your hands free from his grasp, bolting out of the cavernous room and far away from any robes for the rest of your life. Except, you probably had zero chance at getting out of here without Lou, the handsome man dead set on joining whatever kind of hellish scene was in front of you.

That playful glint in Lou’s eyes only made the adrenaline pump harder through your veins. Something deep inside of you was willing for you to follow the handsome stranger’s command, to prove to him that you weren’t a sack of potatoes he had to heft all the way to the exit.

“You’re going to regret this,” you frowned, your face as serious as possible as you finally relented to his tugging.

“Is that a promise?” Lou smiled mischievously, fingers gently intertwined with yours as he pulled you into the mass of robes.

As the pulsating rhythm of the chanting engulfed the chamber, Lucifer and you found yourselves swept into a whirlwind of movement. The flames leaped high, casting eerie shadows on the walls as the cloaked figures spun around the fire.

With a twinkle in his eyes, Lou guided you effortlessly through the dance, his movements fluid and graceful. Despite your initial reluctance, you couldn't help but be swept up in the energy of the moment, your body moving in sync with his.

It was as if whatever spell the rest of the dancers were under finally had you in its grasp, beckoning you to enjoy the sacred dance.

Around you, the cultists swirled and twirled, their voices rising in fervent devotion to their dark deity. You ignored them, your attention solely upon the pearlescent face that was only a few inches from your own, as he spun with you like two seniors soaking up their last high school dance during prom.

A loose rock resting on the dirt floor caused you to stumble on your feet, and you fell backward with a yelp. A firm hand caught you, fingers splayed across the middle of your back as you lifted your eyes to meet Lou’s handsome features.

“Don’t worry, I gotcha,” He winked, pulling you back onto your feet after a moment. You rolled your eyes playfully, before continuing your rhythmic swaying around the fire.

As you danced with Lou, laughter bubbled up from deep within you, a sense of exhilaration coursing through your veins. His hand in yours felt warm and reassuring, anchoring you to the moment as you lost yourself in the dance.

Your steps may have been clumsy and slow, but Lou didn’t take notice, his features alight with amusement, as he pulled you closer toward him.

“See? Not too bad.” He grinned, his chest bumping against yours as he spun you again, and that laughter finally left your lips with a shake of your head.

You lifted your head to stare into those golden orbs of his, a wordless siren’s song taking hold of you again as your eyes lowered to those soft, supple lips of his.

If the atmosphere around you wasn’t whispering your demise, you might have done something brazen like capture his lips in their own dance.

“Only because you’re doing most of the work,” you teased instead, a genuine smile gracing your features.

Lou must have noticed your lightning demeanor, because his eyes only softened and he matched your smile. One of his hands lowered to your waist, and this time you felt you were dancing with your prince charming across a ballroom as he slowed his pace to let you drink in the moment.

For a brief minute, all thoughts of danger and fear were forgotten, replaced by the pure joy of movement and companionship. As the fire crackled and the chants reached a crescendo, you and Lucifer danced on, united in a shared moment of defiance against the darkness that surrounded you.

Your eyes lifted to the other crevice in the cave, the two of you having successfully danced to the other side of the room, one step closer to making it out of here alive. You perked, joy overcoming you as you pulled Lou along out of the crowd and through the exit.

The much narrower tunnel was empty save for the two of you, as your hands hesitantly released each other. Lou walked over to the wall, a torch flickering softly attached to the jutting rocks as he lifted a hand and pulled it free from the tight clasp.

“Shall we continue?” He smiled, raising the torch slightly above his head to light the way as you caught up to join him.

Your pace was faster now, the night growing darker and the urgency growing every minute you stayed in this underground base of cultists.

The two of you crossed through a few winding tunnels, passing other caves on the route. Some were dark, quiet just like your prison had been, while others were filled with voices and laughter. Thankfully, there was only one cave left you’d need to get through before you could be home free.

All that was on your mind was to wrap yourself in the soft covers of your bed and hibernate the rest of the week away. After this, you could live without any human interaction for a couple of months, maybe forever. Except... The only company from tonight you wanted to hang on to was Lou’s.

Would it be weird if you asked for his number? Invited him for some coffee at a later time? No, that was weird. He was your savior, not some Tinder match waiting for the first date.

These cheek-flushing thoughts kept you busy for the next few minutes, as Lou guided you through the rocky maze. He was quiet, his eyes darting to every cave opening and corner, his ears straining for any footsteps or lone wanderer.

The silence between the two of you was peaceful, giving you time to think about recent events.

“Why do they want to sacrifice me?” You said after a few moments.

“It’s pretty simple, actually,” Lou started, scratching his chin, “First, they sacrifice a newborn lamb, which is supposed to create a portal from Hell to the living world, so that a demonic spirit can pass through. But, it's the human sacrifice that gives said demonic spirit their powers, enough for them to grant whatever the summoner wants.”

“Have you ever seen them actually summon the Devil?” You tilted your head curiously.

“..No,” Lou responded slowly, as if he was planning his next words carefully, “But, I’m sure if the exceptionally charming figure were to be around here somewhere, he wouldn't reveal himself until necessary”

“Doesn’t the bible say he was God’s prettiest angel? Unless Hell turned him into some kind of monster, he’s probably still fairly good-looking, especially since he convinced all those other angels to fall with him.”

“Couldn’t be any better than what’s right in front of you, eh?” Lou turned, wiggling his eyebrows at you.

You only laughed softly, shaking your head at his antics. You weren’t sure how Lou would compare to the real deal, but you had an idea of who you’d choose as the winner in such a competition.

A few more minutes, and the two of you came upon a tunnel that split off into two different directions. Both seemed identical, and even Lou seemed to be having trouble figuring out the next steps.

He stood there, eyes flicking from one path to the next, as he bit his nail in thought.

“Are you lost?” you finally questioned, crossing your arms as he pivoted to face you.

“Me? Ha! No,” He chuckled nervously, lifting his hood slightly to rake back his hair.

The small glimpse of those shiny, silky strands had you wishing these cultists chose something more revealing as an outfit choice.

“Okay… so which way?”

“I—um… let’s see. I think we go… right, yeah! That’s it, we go right.” Lou nodded his head, confidence regaining as he turned toward the right branching route.

You quirked an eyebrow but made no comment as you followed him down the path. A few more cultists passed by, but they didn’t pay any mind to the two of you as you continued down the tunnel.

It wasn’t long before you rounded the corner, and the final cave’s entrance loomed ahead. Your heart was pounding in your chest, and you practically skipped to the large opening, giddy with joy.

Lou took place in front of you again, his back brushing against the jutting rocks as he slipped through the gaping crevice, strange noises echoing from the other side.

“Alright, this is the last one, right through here—”

Lou stopped dead in front of you, his mouth dropping in surprise at the scene before him. You slid through beside him, lifting a brow at his strange demeanor before turning your head to the strange noises in front, before your mouth dropped as well.

Inside the much smaller cave, was what seemed to be a small crowd of… exposed individuals. They stood and bent around the room, encircling a pile of naked bodies.

At first, you thought they were dead, until you saw a woman lift her head from the mass, eyes drunk with pleasure and a dopey smile on her features.

Oh… my… god.

Moans erupted, louder now, as you watched a naked man, ass exposed for all to see, kneel in front of a similarly undressed man, his mouth moving forward to clasp around the other man’s….

Your hand shot up to your mouth, and you swallowed down the bile building in your throat.

These guys were having orgies, too?!

“Wrong tunnel…” Lou finally spoke, eyes wide at the explicit scene as you turned away with a gag.

“I’m guessing this is one of the fun little activities you like to join sometimes?” You grumbled, pulling the hood completely over your eyes, hiding from the moaning mass.

The sounds emanating from inside the room were pleasurable, joyous, and everything a nymphomaniac could dream of.

“It’s gotten bigger since last time,” you heard Lou laugh awkwardly, rubbing his neck as he turned to you with a sheepish smile.

“Maybe, we should turn back. Go down that other tunnel?” You hoarsely pleaded.

“The cave's main entrance is right on the other side, we can't turn back now.” He whined, gripping your shoulder and spinning you to face him.

“I am not partaking in this!” You growled, your eyes glancing at all the exposed skin before squeezing them shut with another gag.

“I’m not asking you to!” Lou shot back defensively, “But, we just need to sneak through here, and you’re free!”

Freedom. You were almost there, almost home. A bunch of naked strangers weren’t going to stop you from making it out of here alive.

“Fine,” you relented, “But, you go first.”

“It would be my pleasure,” Lou replied sarcastically with a huff, before he turned, straightened his shoulders, and stepped further into the cave.

Before he could make it any farther, your hand wrapped clumsily around his as you yanked the hood further over your eyes and followed him in.

You steeled yourself, tense as the view directly at the ground gave you a little peek into what was going on around you.

Bodies rolling together, in all different positions, some you didn’t even know existed as you bumped into naked man after naked woman.

“Nothing like debauchery to proclaim your love to the Devil,” you grumbled internally as you stepped over someone’s bare foot that was tangled with another.

“Ah, pardon me… just gonna squeeze through here,” Lou said, as he pushed past a pair of strangers practically eating each other’s faces.

You were halfway through the cavern, before you felt sweaty fingers wrap around your ankle.

Your head snapped to a very beautiful woman, a placated smile on her face as she stared up at you.

“A pretty face like yours deserves some love, why don’t you come and join me?” She sent you a sultry grin, and your frown deepened.

“No thanks, I'm good…” You started, shaking her hand off your ankle.

You barely took another step before a second pair of hands brushed against your other ankle, a large hand grazing up your skin and underneath your robe.

“What’s the rush?” The strange man called to you, his hand sliding farther up your robe.

“Hey, get off!” Lou growled warningly, before protectively pushing you behind him as he ripped the man’s fingers from your leg.

The stranger only held up his hands in surrender, before slinking back into the naked mass. Lou nudged you to get moving again, as you listened.

Then, two identical women, twins you assumed, blocked your path. Their large breasts bounced against their chest as they strolled forward, large grins on their faces.

“A new face!” One of them gasped with glee, “Finally, things won’t be so boring around here.”

“Umm…” you started, until the second woman cut you off with a laugh.

“You’ll need to undress first, honey. That’s where the real fun starts.” The lady licked her lips, eyeing your figure hungrily.

“Woah!” Lou cut in, pulling you closer to him, “Sorry, ladies, but we’re just passing through.”

“Is that so?” One asked, a mischievous glint in her eye.

“That’s right,” he responded, his tone serious as he tugged you along, and you stepped around the two naked individuals, your eyes set on the cave’s exit only a few more meters away.

Again, you felt hands on your robe as you turned to see one of the women trying to get a peek underneath. You wrapped your fingers around the fabric and harshly pulled it from their grasp, sidling closer to Lou as the two of you zigzagged through.

Your breathing was becoming heavy, as panic set in with all the sweaty, disgusting hands practically groping you, tugging at your robe to remove it.

If Lou lost his grip on you, would you be dragged into the mass with no way of escape? This was never how you imagined you were going to greet death.

Lou turned to meet your gaze, and he must have felt the way your hands began to shake as he growled again, pushing past you to kick at another man’s grip on your garment.

“I said get back!” He boomed, and you winced slightly at the authority in his voice. It was strong, and it had you wanting to submit to him instantly, like some kind of other-worldly power.

The others around you also lowered themselves slightly at his tone, but soon they were even reaching towards Lou, who was practically beating them off with bare hands as the two of you backed away.

“Okay, we’re done here,” Lou huffed beside you, before you felt strong hands reaching underneath you and hoisting you into the air bridal-style.

One hand went to hold you firmly underneath your back, while the other wrapped around the back of your knees, and your eyes widened.

Lifting your head, you met Lou’s gaze who smiled reassuringly at you, as he began to practically hop across the cultist’s backs to make it to the other side.

You didn’t mind being carried around for the rest of the escape, especially by such a handsome face. Being so close again, you could smell Lou’s scent against his chest.

Apples and the faint scent of cinnamon. Your nerves began to settle instantly as you deeply inhaled the scent, pulling the hood over your eyes again to shield your poor mind from the rest of the grizzly sight.

You felt Lou take a couple more steps on solid ground, and the brushing off rocks against your legs as he slipped through the threshold and out of the cave.

He took a few more steps, and the orange glow from the torches faded, and fresh air hit your neck.

“Phew, looks like we made it out in one piece!” you heard Lou exclaim, and you perked from his hold.

Your head lifted, and your eyes met moonlight. Without a second thought, you scrambled out of Lou’s grip as he hastily tried to set you down beside him. You ripped that itchy hood off your head, that cool breeze brushing against your cheeks as you took a deep, refreshing breath.

You were outside, hidden amongst the shadows a few feet away near the small opening in the ground that held sinister, demonic secrets.

You extended your arms, taking in the full moon’s light as it basked you in a pale glow.

Lou watched you, smiling softly as you greeted the familiar sights of towering pine trees, the overgrown grass, and the distant calls of the owls and other nightly sounds.

The sounds of freedom, of safety, of home, sweet home.

“Congratulations,” Lou strolled up to you, and you turned to face him with a large smile, “You made it out alive, with barely a scratch on you!”

“I almost didn’t with that last stretch,” you laughed, stepping closer to him, “Thank you, for saving me from those… people.”

“I’d never let anything happen to you under my watch,” He responded, nudging you with his elbow, “They were just all enamored by your face, it’s hard to think straight staring into it for so long.”

Your cheeks heated at his compliment, and even Lou seemed surprised by his own words as he averted his gaze, a tint of red mixing with that porcelain complexion.

“So… this is it? You’re going home now?” You asked softly, desperate that the answer wouldn’t be what you expected.

“Yeah… it’s about time I head out,” Lou nodded slowly, trying to do everything but meet your eyes as he fiddled with his robe’s sleeves.

Your heart sank a little, your lips curving into a frown at the realization that this was goodbye.

This stranger, who wasn’t exactly a stranger anymore, lept into the dragon’s lair to pull you out and guide you to safety. You had never met anyone selfless like that, nor had you met anyone so good-looking.

Lou was like your… guardian angel. An ethereal figure who appeared during your darkest moments to lift you, physically and mentally, up from the depths. And now, he was leaving you to flap those wings and disappear into the night.

‘Please stay,’ you wished, as he finally turned his head to meet your gaze. Could he see the desperation behind your eyes?

You weren’t sure, as Lou stood silently for a few moments, before he lifted his hands and pulled the hood down from his head.

You held in a gasp, the way those blonde strands curled messily around his face, as they practically shimmered in the moonlight. He was drop-dead gorgeous now, and you felt your inner thighs beginning to heat against your will.

Holy moly… could this guy get any hotter?

Lou watched you for a moment, before his brows furrowed, lips pursed slightly in hesitation as if he was fighting the urge to say more.

‘Cat got your tongue?’ you wanted to tease, give the handsome, snow-skinned man a taste of what you could offer if he snuck around just a teensy bit longer.

The words never left your lips though, divulging into another missed opportunity that you’ll most definitely regret later when you were trying to sleep this traumatic night away.

Lou’s smile faltered for a moment, before they curved back to that charming, heart-fluttering grin.

“Well, looks like you better get going,” he sighed, “Even though tonight was pretty crazy, I enjoyed spending it with you.”

“I could say the same thing. But… how do I get home?” You frowned.

Lou lifted a hand to point somewhere behind you, and you turned your head to follow his finger. Off into the distance, strobes of multicolored lights lit up the city only a mile or so down the dusty path before you.

Your eyes widened at the familiar, towering buildings that dotted the cityscape. The neighborhood you turned down every afternoon to go home every evening practically screaming at you from down the mountain.

“Wait, we’re this close to my house? That’s crazy, I though—”

The words died in your throat, when you turned to find the spot before you empty. No hint that there was even a man beside you at one point, as the grass swayed softly around you, and the breeze tickled the hair on your skin.

Where did he go so fast? You twisted your head, trying to find a glimpse of the pale figure, to no avail.

You were left alone, with Lou nowhere in sight. Your fingers tightened around the rubber duck in your pocket soothingly as your heart sank even further.

Slowly, using the moon to light your path, you turned away from the spot Lou had vanished from, and began to trek down the dirt path.

Finally, you were going home. Although, you weren’t sure whether you’d be able to forget this night any longer, not with that dashing face at the forefront of your mind.

It had been exactly one year since you were kidnapped and taken to that hellish cave. The events replayed in your mind as you entered the large cave opening underground, surrounded by hooded figures that brushed past you as they crowded around a large stone table.

You had kept the robe Lou had given you, washed it a hundred times, before hiding it deep within your closet, never to see the light of day.

Until tonight. When you had risen from your bed, brows furrowed, mind set on one, idiotic plan of action.

You were going to go back. Back to those twisting tunnels, the smell of damp earth mingled with sinister intentions, and the hypnotic chanting of prayers.

And, back to that handsome face.

You didn’t remember when you had become dead set on going back, part of your mind begging you to turn on your heel and leave as you joined the large gathering inside the cavern.

The first ritual of the night was the sacrificial lamb. It cried out helplessly, bound on top of the stone table, surrounded by what seemed to be the leaders of the cult.

Their robes were much more fashionable, tinted with gold as one man in the center raised a large knife, chanting an unknown tongue as the rest of the crowd joined in.

“Satan!” One of the leaders bellowed, “Take this offering as a token of our devotion, and rise to join us from the depths of Hell!”

You lowered your head, averting your gaze at the painful bleating of the lamb as metal met soft skin, the knife digging deep until it twisted the little creature’s heart open from inside its chest.

The small animal’s cries died as blood seeped onto the stone table, a dark red river that flowed across its smooth surface before cascading onto the dirt floor beneath.

As the cultists around you sang praise and talked amongst themselves, you slowly backed away, pushing through to the back of the crowd.

“Dale, good to see ‘ya! How are the kids?” You heard one merrily ask to another.

When you exited the mass of robes, you inhaled deeply, settling your nerves as you twisted your head across the room.

Since it was the beginning of the night, the cultists were busy catching up with each other. They chatted away as if they were discussing the weather, instead of their next sacrifice.

Sneaking along the wall, you slipped out of sight and towards one end of the room, multiple paths branching out into dimly lit tunnels.

You stopped, craning your neck to try and find anything to gauge your memory.

This tunnel seemed familiar… was this the way back to your prison? If Lou was right, and they did this every year, then there would be some new, terrified face waiting for death somewhere around here.

You shook your head. No, it must be the tunnel on the other side of the room. The stalactites on the cave’s ceiling were much longer than the ones you had remembered from last year.

Turning, you took a step forward to check out the other route. Right as you twisted your head, you ran straight into another cultist, and you stumbled back with an oomph at the force.

“Hey, watch where you’re going!” you growled, as you looked down to adjust your robe.

“Woah! Sorry about that, just got lost in my thoughts,” the familiar, male voice responded, and your eyes widened with shock.

You didn’t say anything, instead, you lifted your head, frozen in place as the pale figure brushed dirt from his chest as he met your gaze.

“Don’t mind me, I’m just heading to the bathroo—”

Lou stopped, his mouth agape, as your familiar features dawned on him.

“It’s you!” his eyes lit up instantly, a soft smile dancing across his lips as he skimmed down your figure, covered with the same robe he had given you exactly one year ago.

Oh, how you missed those pretty eyes of his, and the cute red spots framing his lips.

“What are you doing here?” He looked at you funny, as if you were crazy for coming all the way back here.

Which you were.

“You forgot to say goodbye, last time we spoke,” was your reply, as you tilted your head at the man.

“Oh… right. I’m sorry, goodbyes are just not my kind of thing. I wasn’t trying to be rude! I just thought you would be better off if…” he stumbled over his apology, as if you’d turn around and leave forever if he couldn’t come up with a good enough excuse.

Your smile only widened, and Lou’s frown dissolved as you stepped closer to him.

“Ready to go save some poor, wayward soul?” You whispered, extending a closed fist towards that handsome, pearlescent face.

You opened your hand, revealing that familiar, yellow rubber duck that smiled innocently at Lou.

He reached a hand forward, fingers reaching towards the toy in your palm. Instead of taking it from you, he curled your fingers back up, closing your hand into a fist once more.

“I think whoever we meet will need it more than me,” Lou smiled at you, eyes soft as he drank in your presence.

“Let’s not keep them waiting, hm?” You shot him a grin, reaching your other hand forward to entwine with his, before pulling him away from the crowd.

Lou only chuckled, keeping pace as the two of you sneaked down the tunnel, towards that familiar, sinister prison you had called home only a year ago.

You were praying the dance lessons you had taken during the year would impress your new handsome, blonde, partner in crime later tonight.

If not, there was always next year.

y’know i keep saying “this next fic is gonna be short” but it’s obvious my brain doesn’t know wtf that means 😭 like i’ve literally tried to sit down and right plain ol’ headcanons before but i just don’t have a bone in my body for that kind of stuff lmao

but i just thought the idea of lucifer getting summoned to commit evil acts, to then just do the complete opposite and save people is funny af bc my boy is not cool with straight up murder like that.

let me know your thoughts! have a wonderful day 🦢

tags 🏷️

@ohnoivefallen @doodlebob2726 @coleisyn @undertale-is-sansational @nehy019 @mixplara @chewbrry @yellowsubiesdance @airwolf92 @lxkeee @jellybellyrulez @catnoirsleftnut @mbruben-stein @froggybich @moonlovers34 @just-trash-yeah-thats-it @lil-bexie @wings-of-sapphire @the-tortured-poet @enigmatic-blues @bethleeham @blue122 @cherry-4200 @azullynx @luzzbuzz @for-hearthand-home @helluvapoison @th3-st4r-gur1 @concentratedconcrete @cimadreamer @marsenbie @guacam011y @maxiskindahere @purplerose291 @fictional-character-whore @0willowwisp0 @yourlocalgoldenretrieverboy @wpdarlingpan @halo-balo @chipper-chip @lvstyangel @acrazyartist @midorichoco

#hazbin hotel #hellaverse #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer morningstar #lucifer x reader #hazbin hotel x reader

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caffeinatedmunchkin · 22 days ago

Text

A bard and a vampire wander into the local hags backyard-STOP ME IF YOU'VE HEARD THIS ONE Wilted Rose Productions proudly presents its newest release: STOP ME IF YOU'VE HEARD THIS ONE. Ofelia Montez (With Stars to Fill My Dreams) and Astarion Ancunín (Christian Woman, Hungry Like the Wolf) reunite to star in this tongue-in-cheek exploit that pens a love-letter to vampirism, and all that it’s bitten; which Fangoria hails: "unpredictable, ambitious, and aware; a frightfully amusing re-telling for all to sink their teeth into - no fangs required.” and that Bloody Disgusting calls: "A wild ride. These horror high jinks are the sort that could only exist for a duo the likes of Ofelia and Astarion, and it is only because of them that this story is pulled off." Sex, blood, and Rock ‘n’ Roll. Bring home the absurd story you think you know, told like never before. STOP ME IF YOU'VE HEARD THIS ONE, now on video cassette - rent it tonight! Runtime of 37K words. The media advertised has been rated R for strong sexual content, graphic depictions of violence, and crude humor. Restrictions apply. Under 18 requires accompanying parent or adult guardian. Please be kind and rewind!

{reference I used for making the cover}

[Banner credit]

PART 1 OF 2 - Apparently tumblrs posts have block limits ?? Who knew.

Ali, you are such a force of creativity, positivity, talent, and kindness. I've been around the fandom block, which I'm generally pretty wary of, and I had sworn off of tumblr for years. It was only a matter of time, I think, before something BG3 pulled me back in. Boy howdy am I supremely grateful it was here and now, and that it lead me to you!

I want to thank you for not only welcoming me so warmly to this community, but for your friendship and your support. In return, I very humbly present you with this; my ode to Ofelia, what a wonderful, iconic, lovable character she is, and the incredible dynamic you've built around her and Astarion, our fave resident bastard man.

Thank you for sharing her with us, and thank you for trusting me with her.

There's no way I'll ever be able to thank you enough, or show you how much I appreciate you, but I hope this conveys it a lil. Enjoy xoxo

Once upon a time...

In a land far, far away...

- a realm born of both the fantastical, and the treacherous -

(As I'm writing this narration, I'm hearing it in Raphael's voice, and I'm gonna need you to do the same as you read it. Liam Neeson is an acceptable substitute.)

... the setting in which our story, like many hitherto, begins.

A sinuous tale of love, and lust, and wonderment.

The improbable turned possible.

One quiet afternoon, on the outskirts of the Sunlit Wetlands...

...In an innocuous patch of wood, do we find our favorite, lionhearted young bard, and her sardonic vampyre.

Who happened upon this lush thicket. One deep-set in the hag's bog, to whom it belongs.

Ever benignant, a purveyor fair and just; she had come by her notoriety honestly.

It was not as though she had been known to deal in ironics, or legerdemain.

Certainly not dear Auntie Ethel...

And in their hapless trespassing, embark on this, their aforenamed escapade, most unwitting.

To the amused delight of no one in particular...

...

Then again, what's more fun than two lovers clueless to the absurdity in which they are thrust?

The very same circumstance, wherein one of them is in on the joke - of course.

Crouched before a tangle of parted undergrowth, Ofelia toiled away at the lock of an old trinket box. Intricate carving and chipped paint, it's abandoned burial evident, as it sat half unearthed. Peeking through a sparse patch of naked vine, it called to her. Begging its contents rifled.

Rusted just enough to prove her proceeding efforts fruitless - it's cry for exploration now revealed to be a taunt - the firmer she appealed for cooperation, the more stubborn was its refusal. To her pins coaxing, it only clinked in protest.

Frustration bubbling like a pot boiled over, her attention was then demanded by Astarion's hemming and hawing. His melodrama loud and needy, his tolerance for not being the center of attention delicately finite. That toleration had fizzled and snuffed, extinguished like a candles flame near the end of its wick.

Really, she was impressed he lasted as long as he had.

Found a little ways ahead in the clearing, haughty and regal, with irritation twitching his sharp ear in the way she loved. Hands fallen to his hips, and shoulders drawn back, the elf stood before what looked to be a mirror.

"What's that?" She called, maintaining the rapid, driving pressure in and out.

Her attempted finesse surrendered, she relied on the assumption that each next pass might be the one to jostle the pins to the shear line. An assumption then punished by her strayed focus, and blunt-force, Ofelia was echoed by the chink of thin steel, cracked and crumpling.

In quiet panic, she rose to her full height. Holding her breath with the hopes he hadn't heard.

A hope that died a slow, painful death.

"The sound of the very last of my picks I ever lend to you, breaking, I believe." He drawled, the bored nonchalance of his tone betraying his forgone assumption she'd snap it in half. Judged by the sounds of her working the lock alone, though he was well acquainted with how lean her patience.

His back still to hear, he felt the blunt edge of her flat stare smack into his head. "I've warned you before about such a heavy hand. It's a snake rake, darling, not a battering ram."

If he didn't feel her glare from moments prior, he most definitely felt the breeze from her lashes, fluttering around the eyes sent back into her skull.

"So then maybe you should be doing this, instead of pawning the work off onto me and calling it 'practice.'" Brushing the dirt from her knees, she slipped the pieces of what used to be Astarion's rake into the pouch on her belt.

"Nonsense. If I always do it for you, then you'll never learn to do it for yourself." He twisted to face her, a lazy smirk as smug as his inflection. It earned her tongue stuck out at him through a crinkled face.

An expression that he used to categorize as a "gurn", - the comparison not made with affection - he now very deliberately teased it out of her.

Shallow taunts and ragging seemed the trick.

Returning a glare to the mirror, it had yet to give him the satisfaction of how handsome even his defiance presented. "What a distasteful stab at opulence. I daresay not even a goblin would be desperate enough to try and make off with such a gaudy thing." He waved in a vague gesture.

"Remember our talk about stereotypes?" Her goading lilt made him sniff, her simper spilling wider. "And really, you're one to talk. You're a worse hoarder of shiny things than anyone else I know. Goblin, or otherwise."

Astarion turned his head as far as his shoulder, but went no further. His preening given away by the curl of his lips.

"Just this side of the Gate, or from your world, as well?"

"Both your world, and mine. Hands down."

To that he chuckled. "Sweet-talker."

"I have learned from the best." Ofelia looked up as she passed behind him to catch a glimpse of herself. To reaffirm that the loosened tendrils from Shadowheart's fishtail braid, the one she pleated for her after breakfast, still framed her face whimsical, and romantic. Though something curious happened, making her take pause.

Her assumed reflection did not appear.

Her approach then cautious, Ofelia cocked her head once she joined his side, her closeness demanding of the mirror something it refused to humor.

A grand, ornate piece, it jarred against the gnarled overgrowth it occupied, looking as if it was put down during a move, and forgotten. Though nothing of time, nor the elements, tainted it with signs of wear or corrosion. It looked well kept. The surface shone, glassy and slick like tears unshed. The gold-leaf rubbed into the frame glinted as if from a fresh polish.

Resting against a trunk in a position central to the semi-circle of trees around them, it's placement then seemed conspicuous. Deliberate in drawing the eye. Calling to any and all that looked it's way to come close, and peer within. To indulge its mystique.

Ofelia couldn't believe she hadn't noticed it first thing. Impossible to miss against a backdrop so drab in comparison, it had been there all along.

Hadn't it?

An imposing height that would have towered over even Halsin, it was scarcely wider than the width of Astarion shoulder to shoulder. One would have had to crowd the other to both be visible at once.

That was, if either were visible in it at all.

"Huh." She waved her hand before the surface, expecting a returned visage, and greeting, that still didn't appear. "That's weird."

Astarion snorted. "Darling, is there something you've not told me?"

Ignoring his attempts to be playful, she leaned in closer, eyes narrowed beneath brows that furrowed further. With perception that would have made Carl Kolchak proud, she remarked with casual assurance. "The trees are wrong."

"I beg your pardon?"

"The trees." She said again, pointing to the structures within the frame. Tall, narrow, and sparse. Too tall and narrow to be the reflection of the firs in the clearing around them, and too familiar to belong to Faerûn.

Too familiar to Earth native Ofelia.

"This isn't... a reflection, it's..."

Trailing off and unable to help herself, she raised her hand to the surface. Expecting to meet solid glass, Astarion's heed for caution came too little too late. Once her fingers pushed against it, they dipped straight through, as if made of smoke and shadow.

The illusion rippled outward. Reminiscent of a still pond then disturbed, it gave way to her intrusion, though the scene remained. A cluster of trees in a nondescript forest, during a cloudy, overcast day.

Cool to the touch, Ofelia ripped her hand away as if flames lapped at her from the other side. A surmised hazard, corroborated by her squeak. "What the hell-,"

Having deduced she was startled as opposed to injured, Astarion leaned in for closer inspection. "Hmm... it appears to be the same sort of glamor our dear Ethel used to disguise the bog. Odd. I wonder what else she's trying to hide." Then in afterthought, as if a personal offense to him - or all vampire kind - he huffed. "Whatever it might be, why a mirror? Seems a bit wanting for originality, if you ask me."

After sizing it up sidelong, curiosity tamed her apprehension, and she reached for it once more. Astarion's disapproving tsk falling on deaf ears.

This time, when the mirror accepted her fingertips, she reached further, until it swallowed her up to the wrist. Wriggling her fingers and rolling the joint on the other side, unable to see, she could feel.

Frigid, raw air. The gentle sting of mist. Withdrawing her hand, she studied it, and the faint droplets that had gathered on her sun-kissed flesh.

"I think it's... like a portal, or something?"

"Are you asking, or telling?" Ofelia shot him a look, and he scoffed with a scrunch of his brows. "A portal to what?"

"Another forest, maybe? I don't know, I felt... moisture, and air. A little chilly, like late winter." Lifting the back of her hand to her nose for a hesitant sniff, perplexity was worn far too serious on her young face. "It almost... smells like home?"

Damp and woodsy, a bouquet of pine and petrichor. Pungent and distinctly Pacific Northwest. Though prior to her abduction she was a loud and proud Cali local, the nostalgia of crisp, clean Earth was good enough for her. The rhythm of her heart spiked in a pattern Astarion was all too familiar with.

"Don't be daft, darling."

Was his unwillingness to entertain a way back to her home born from a selfishness to keep her in Faerûn with him?

Indubitably.

Would he ever admit to such?

Not on her life.

"I know you're not so naive as to think anything of the hags warrants faith. She learns what you want most, and offers in it's stead but a cruel, mangled imitation."

"We don't even know for sure if this is Ethel's - but it could really, actually be home!" She rocked up to her toes, clasping her hands behind her back. Her head tucked towards her shoulder in a manner she meant to be ingratiating. "C'mon, what's the worst that'll happen? Aren't you even the least bit curious about where I come from?"

Astarion in her world... in her home. Her mind barrelled after her heart in its race.

There was so much she could introduce to him.

Castlevania on Netflix. The chorizo and egg breakfast tacos - heavy on the Chipotle mayo - at her favorite diner, the one a short walk to the park by her apartment. Better still, she could take him to her spot at that same park, an empty clearing bordering the soccer field. The little hideaway eked out and sheltered from the main path by the surrounding trees, it was just large enough for two.

She could take him there for a picnic lunch. The wire of her headphones split between them as she introduced him to more favorites, like Siouxsie and the Banshees or Volbeat. Admiring the way the haze of mid-morning sun dappled against his fair skin through the overhead canopy of leaves.

Stretched out along the grass, head cradled by her lap as she raked her fingers through his curls. His ethereal beauty, and bliss, celebrated in an opaline sheen in the suns rays.

And not just any sun, but her sun.

So giddy was she, to the image of him languid and content in shared domesticity, that it was as if she had already stepped through the alleged portal. Leaving him behind to peer at her, expectant, while she slipped deeper into her reverie. She was ripped back with a start by the snap of his fingers before her nose.

Blinking up at him, her attention fixed to the glimmer in his claret eye. Buried deep beneath weary skepticism, was curiosity. Faint, but instantly recognizable, she caught it before the gravity of her proposal had the chance to smother the ember.

Astarion wasn't often the voice of reason. He rationed the use of that one talent of his many for when the need was most dire. Hearing her impulsivity rev higher with every pounded beat within her chest, he sought to reel her back in. Conscious, and thoughtful in his intonation.

"And what happens, my precious little bard, when your home is not waiting on the other side?"

She shrugged.

“We step back through, right where we started. No harm, no foul." Batting her lashes, softening a back-bone that - for her alone - was about as rigid as a single strand of al dente angel-hair. "Besides, are you honestly telling me that the curiosity wouldn't drive you crazy if we didn't take even just one, itty-bitty peak?"

She was kind enough to measure out for him just how itty-bitty she meant, by pinching her finger-tips.

She had him there. The routine of their little troupe the previous few days had him restless.

They had done nothing but comb back through previously covered ground, all in effort to stock up for their eventual pilgrimage through the Underdark. Only to then make camp for another night, equaled in solemnity.

It was all so dull it bordered on tragic. The mere recollection made him sigh.

"You know what they say about curiosity and the cat, don't you darling?"

Her lips pursed to a small, mischievous smile. Continuing to brandish her lashes, that's all else she gave in reply.

As if he could deny any request attached to those big brown eyes.

He, in fact, could not.

With a put upon huff that forced every last bit of air from his lungs, Astarion caved. Pinching the bridge of his nose where it met his forehead wrinkled by his frown.

"We're to no more than poke our heads in- just to put this inquisitiveness to bed. If something's amiss, we come straight back.” He warned, his finger jut towards her in emphasis. “And you're never to aim those Godsdamn eyes at me ever again."

"YES!” She squealed. “Okay, okay, yes. Agreed!"

All but bouncing up and down, her victorious grin split wider across her face. Astarion couldn't deny the tightening around his dormant heart, nor the flush up the back of his neck to have granted her such excitement.

In the same lively rush of self-satisfaction, it also stoked the ire of pessimism beginning to swell within. His grimace deepened.

When had he become such a stick in the mud?

The very moment he traded his heart for hers, naturally. Caring for another was exhausting business, when the heart he took was more precious to him, than the very hands he used to hold it.

Ofelia knew that even if this was a way back home, it didn't mean she would going back for good, of course.

Probably.

They still had the ever-present triviality of impending Ceremorphosis to contend with. But even just the possibility of a sort of fast travel way-point between her world, and this one?

Ofelia had, after all, been abducted by Mind flayers, before she crashed and burned through Hell itself.

She pulled a powerful, near-famed wizard out of a rock. Stuck and flailing in the mineral like a cat with it's head caught in an empty tissue box.

Said wizard had since used his awesome power to amplify the sound of both her voice, and her lyre, just so she could preform Crazy On You for a bunch of Tieflings.

And an elf, who's also a bear.

She now had a two-hundred-odd year old Vampire for a boyfriend, whose high-school-cheer-captains sass brutality was worse than his literal bite.

She had taken her first steps in a land of literal fairy-tale, in chunky tricolor Nikes.

Stranger things had taken place, for sure.

All that aside, portals - like doorways - by their very nature, were two sided. If they went through to one side, they could simply step back over to the other.

Right?

Allowing room for only one to pass through at a time, Ofelia steeled herself to go first, buzzing like a hummingbird in her boots. With a deep breath, every inch of her prickled in adrenaline, pulling her toes curled and tightening her scalp.

She only made it one foot forward, before Astarion snatched her by the elbow, holding her in place.

"Wait." He sounded strained, as if trying to craft his speech to match a composure his actions already betrayed. "I'll... go first. This could spit us out over a steep incline, and knowing you you're just as liable to snap your neck as you are to roll an ankle."

"My perfect gentleman." She hummed, tucking her fists to her chest.

He waved her off with a grumble, and flattened ears. "Spare me."

Stepping in front of her to fill the frame with his stance, he sized up the trees within, as they scraped against the pale sky. With a roll of his shoulders, Astarion mumbled beneath his breath, something along the lines of; "let's get this over with." before he entered.

And then he was gone.

Swallowed by the shifting veil of glamor from the tips of his ears, to his heels. A faint linger of bergamot and brandy where he once stood.

Ofelia expelled a breath herself, and waited. Fingers twisting at her middle, she counted to ten, drawing out the intervals between each.

When he didn't return, and nothing in the picture altered in any indication something had gone awry upon his intrusion, she knew it was her turn.

She went in after him.

Astarion couldn't recall much of the experience through the portal.

A blur of senses jarred, and contrasting weightlessness.

He could remember the infernal whine that pierced through it all. It writhed and lashed him along, the echo of it's heinous distortion blending into the cacophony of background noise now that he was on the other side, though not soon enough.

Passing through must have severed his brain from its stem, as the sharp twinges in Astarion's head pulsed like the organ had been knocked around freely. Harsh illumination flooded from every direction, it needled the lids he held shut against it.

The ringing in his ears dulled and dissolved into idle chatter, laughter, and scuffling feet.

A touch settled to his forearm. Nimble finger-tips, with the weight and docility of a woman. Bare flesh to his bare arm.

Strange. His arms were covered in sleeves shoulder to wrist just moments before.

"-re you alright?" A woman's voice reached him through the raucous vacuity, full-bodied and clear. A closeness suggesting it must have been from the one who touched him. "What's wrong?" She chirped again. Direct with her concern.

Ofelia?

His eyes urged open by the voice, he winced with the sting, his vision erupting in white. The light descended upon him with a vengeance, and burned brighter than the sun ever did. Even after all their centuries of estrangement.

He struggled to adjust, only to then be bombarded by the sheer volume of people that surrounded him. All appearing to be quite young, and humanoid, their attire foreign. Not a single face, not even the woman who fussed over him, was Ofelia's.

The room they were in was cavernous, and sterile. It consumed the noise and spat it back out in warring reverberation. The longer he stood there, the louder it seemed to swell. The architect rigid as it was alien, glass windows stretched across much of the walls, with thin blue columns posted between them. The unfamiliarity of the furnishings went without saying, eyeing the bright garland of flags he didn't recognize, strung along the tops of the windows at his side.

His head jerked around as he searched for her among the thickness of the crowd. The specific words, and phrases he was able to isolate from the maelstrom of conversations all happening at once, did remind him of Ofelia. A commonality in her accent, and general dialect.

Was she right after all? Were they now in her home?

The bob of his throat numbed to ice.

What if she never wanted to go back with him?

Would he stay here for her? Would she ask?

What if she didn't want him to stay?

The woman stood before him with patience, though he could tell by the set of her shoulders, and tilt of her head that it was dwindling.

A pallid, statuesque woman with a cleft in her chin, whoever she was, she expected something from him. He could feel the weight of it boring into him by her expectant stare. Prodding him to speak. However the longer he went without Ofelia, her sonorous lilting, the playful wickedness glinting in the dark of her gaze, frustration began to rear.

He was in no mood for pleasantries, first impressions in her world be damned.

He snapped through the hum of drivel. "Where's Ofelia?"

The woman recoiled, though she didn't shrink. Her lips pressed thin, off-put by how brusque she was addressed.

A tall, brute of a man with dark hair and a similar sun-starved complexion posted behind her. Dressed in all white, he regarded Astarion with features screwed in complimentary scrutiny. More stunned than offended, he echoed his woman in her silence.

"Who?" Piped up from his right. It was another's woman's voice. Sprightly, much higher and airier than the firsts.

He turned to a waifish young woman, short brunette hair spiking in tufts across her forehead and out from around her ears. Curiosity and innocence personified, by her too-large of eyes, and fragile features.

"Ofelia." He reiterated, his chest tightening as her gaze widened in hopeless confusion. "Caramel skin, and raven-haired. Brown saucers for eyes, and far more suggestible than they've the right to be. A busty little number, with silver piercing her nose, here," he tapped his right nostril for emphasis, before doing to the same to the ends of each brow. "As well as here?"

Next to the small brunette was a blond man, who loomed just beyond her shoulder like a specter. One who looked as though he hadn't eaten, slept, or smiled for several months. Skin so pale it was almost translucent, with tired eyes ensnared by the void. His features passive, they twitched as if against some invisible tension wound too-tight to keep him neutral.

The tiny one gazed up at him, pleading for input with a girlish pout that matched her bowed brows. The ghoul blinked back down at her, his shoulders lifting in a motion so slight, he might as well have not even bothered. That was all the reply he gave, though she seemed to find it sufficient. Well versed in his body language, and anguished indifference.

She then wielded her doe-eyes back at Astarion, a sincere sympathy in their glisten. Her confession made with a head shake. "She sounds beautiful, but... I have no idea who she is."

Astarion waved her silent, his aggravation stewing as he made a break from the four. The heel of his shoe squeaked during his pivot, a grating sound that startled him still, though his head remained on a swivel.

More people filed in to feed the crowd, but his bard was not among them.

Sensing his impending departure, and wary over his amnesic behavior, the blonde woman stepped forward with hands raised. Afraid he'd take off like a scared animal if she closed in. Hand falling to his arm again, her voice lowered to a belabored hush.

"Where do you think you're going? What's gotten into you?"

He pulled his arm free and stumbled back. "If you're not going to be of use, then I shall have to find her myself."

The brunette woman's worry strengthened the longer she observed Astarion, her tone cracking and shrill. "Wait-! We'll help you, it's just... well, you're not making very much sense-,"

"I've no time for this." He growled, his eye drawn to an open corridor beyond where the five of them huddled. Surmising it to be the best place to start, by the consistent stream of people that had funneled through.

The four exchanged looks of varied disbelief once he succeeded in disentangling from their clique, and made for the halls entrance. In a final attempt at getting through to him, the blonde woman called after him, loud enough to attract the attention from the nearest bystanders.

"What are you -Edward!"

Astarion stopped, spinning on his heel to face them with a single brow stitching upward.

"My name is not-," he then huffed, abandoning the correction with a dismissive gesture. "Oh, never mind that."

He could hear the brunette woman squeak to the others, "we should go to Carlisle." as he left them there, gawking.

A bizarre encounter to be certain, but he'd squander no more of the precious time he'd already wasted, least of all on the likes of them.

He needed to find Ofelia.

He tried the tadpole first; but it laid unresponsive. Not dead, it gave sluggish twitches when he tried prodding it to action. Still there, burrowed within his gray matter, though dazed from the traversal. Just as dazed as himself.

Left to navigate the discombobulation on his own, and he couldn't even rely on the blasted Illithid parasite to determine if she was there. Another log fed to his roiling agitation, his ire blazed to full-swell.

She had to be there, somewhere. He just had to find her.

She was right behind him.

Wasn't she?

The moment she passed through in full, the towering pines devolved into harsh disorientation.

The pins-and-needles feeling of a limb deprived of circulation translated for the eye, all Ofelia could discern was the feeling of disembodiment. Sensory deprivation, as her aura of consciousness passed through an endless funnel of flickering black and white particles.

A low, monotonous hum of sound dialed tighter and tighter into a high-pitched whine, almost inaudible, before the psychedelics surrounding her twisted to a pinprick in the dark.

Pure white blinked to pitch black. The whine clicked off, winding down into silence.

Silence, and nothingness.

And then, gradual and humming, it all receded to make way for sound, and light. It flooded back around her, like sunrise at dawn, overwhelming and final.

When next she opened her eyes, she was no longer standing in a copse beside Astarion.

Nor did she tumble headfirst down the side of a mountain face. Or drop into the middle of some unidentified body of water; a fear that crept in just as she allowed the looking glass to swallow her whole, and it was too late to back out.

No, she was plopped somewhere far worse than even those two undesirable scenarios.

She was sitting in a high-school cafeteria.

Discordant chatter rushed her ear from clusters of teens at round tables, and loitering around the exits. In line to pile cold green beans, and congealed mashed potato onto plastic trays. Sneakers squealing against linoleum shearing through the indecipherable buzz.

She froze, looking down to find a similar tray gripped in hand. Her feet beginning to fidget under her, she discovered that she too was in a pair of squeaky sneakers.

I definitely wasn't wearing sneakers before-

After whipping her head from side to side, Astarion's face not among any that blurred into her line of sight, she shut her eyes and tried reaching out with the tadpole. It gave a little kick as it stirred, but remained otherwise stagnant.

She could, at the very least, still sense him somewhere near by, but the signal was frayed, preventing the integral method of communication they relied on when separated.

Still, she tried calling his name, but it only rebounded back. Reverberating throughout her tender skull like the whack of a ping-pong ball to the paddle, and only making it half as far, as it stayed contained within her own head. Such as when dreams rend one mute, she cried out for him, but the futile attempts bounced around the walls of her cranium, trapped. Useless. Unable to connect with him in order to guide him to her position, or likewise, make her way to his.

Oh this is so not good.

Without a single clue to where she was, or Astarion's whereabouts, her anxiety began to mount as every face she searched was one more she didn't recognize.

Until she turned her attention to her company at the table around her.

No way... Not a chance. This is absolutely not happening-

Ofelia wasn't in the middle of just any high-school cafeteria. Ofelia was in the Forks High cafeteria. Of Forks, Washington. In 2008.

The more she looked, the less real the situation felt, though nothing could have been further from the truth. This wasn't a dream, or an illusion. Hard plastic sat beneath her, as more hard plastic in a band wove through her hair at the crown of her head. When she looked down at herself, her eye met a mossy-green buttoned shirt, one boxy, and not particularly flattering, hugged against her full chest.

One not of her wardrobe, and certainly not what she had put on that morning before she and Astarion set out.

What the fuck-

"Hey, Mikey, you met my home-girl Bella!"

Ofelia shifted in her seat with a cringe.

Was the writing always this abysmal?

"My girl." An assertion puffed against the side of her face by an unidentified third male, the lips of whom then mashed against her cheek in a hasty kiss.

She whipped around on instinct to see - the name Tyler maybe sounded right? - duck away in an infantile, tugging-the-pigtail-of-a-cute-girl hit and run. Though not before pulling Mike's chair out from under him, sending him to the ground in a thud. The table jostled as he tried to catch himself against it before he did.

She watched with wide eyes and a tingling cheek, as Mike scrambled from the scuffed linoleum to bound after Tyler as he booked it away.

"Oh my God," Anna Kendrick - Ofelia couldn't for the life of her remember her character's name, and the fact that she was reeling didn't help in her frantic recall - tittered, as she took Mikey's place right next to her. "It's like, first grade all over again and you're the... shiny new toy." Her tone pinched nasal and worked into a purposeful, monotonous apathy to mimic the stereotype that plagued all teens in the early aughts.

Oh... the writing was really that abysmal.

Ofelia was fortunate, she supposed, to be plopped into a scene of the story where Bella was stunned into silence, floundering just as much. At least her own was masked that way.

"Smile!" Came from across the table in a soft, sing-song lilting. With a click, an abrupt flash cinched Ofelia's pupils in tight constriction, and pulled them crossed.

The blinding strobe of the camera covered up her wince, as the dormant tadpole then spasmed to attention.

A familiar wriggle tugging behind the eye drew both of hers in the direction of an even more familiar face. Pale and stern, red eyes broiling with bewilderment. Her mouth popped open to-

-What, tell him to stick to the script that he doesn't know? We're gonna cause a lot of fucking confusion if you don't call me Bella, by the way-

Not even given the chance to begin, Astarion barked out her name with the coarse vexation of a parent looking to wrangle a wayward toddler in a shopping mall.

"Ofelia!"

It cleaved through a gaggle of teens holed up near the cafeteria's entrance, parting them for him to stalk through as he tore down the connecting hallway. Necks craned and smirking, they whispered amongst themselves, awaiting the scene they expected to follow.

She heard a soft, collective gasp behind her as he marched towards her. Clambering out of her seat to meet him, he was on her before she even so much as stood up. Looming before her as if he owned her, a wild gleam ignited outward from his exploded pupil.

Distracting her from the outrageous sight of Astarion in jeans that she would have otherwise delighted in.

"What in the fresh hells is going on? Where are we? Why is everyone calling me Edward? What are you-," his tirade ground to a halt as his eyes settled to her legs. The full hips and shapely thighs he so adored wrapped by clinging denim, it bared her curves in full. No imagination or fond reminiscing required. A single of his arrogant brows lifted, appreciation reigned his snarling breathless. "...wearing?"

Ofelia collapsed into him with the strength of her grateful exhale, twisting his shirt into her hands. Clinging to his chest like lovers reunited.

His nostrils twitched with an inaudible snort, taking great effort to mold his features into something more hospitable. Something that better matched his joy at having found her. Like shadow as it bends to light, the aggravation bled into relief. Dappled through, vibrant and glittering.

The smile she angled his way could best be described as sappy. "I never thought I'd be so happy to be on the receiving end of your murderous gaze."

Reaching between them to cup her hips, his next snort was audible, though his expression was pained. "Is this... are we in your home?"

"No! God, no...," she winced, a placative face he understood as one used to smooth over an unpleasant, half-truth. "-well, I mean uh-,"

"Ofelia." He warned, though not before his ear - an ear rounded, like hers - picked up on the hushed remark from the single man seated at the table.

He leaned in to the woman with glasses across from him as he tried, and failed, at discretion. "She lied about her name being Bella?"

"Why are you calling yourself Bella?" Astarion accused, his tone raised an octave. "Are you the reason why everyone here seems to be under the impression that I'm Edward?"

The seated trio watched on, shameless and open with their eavesdropping.

That is, if you could call Astarion yelling right in front of them as such.

"Uh, I'm sorry d'you... do you guys know each other?" What's-her-face Anna Kendrick scoffed from her seat. Astarion scowled from over Ofelia's shoulder, her hands pressing to his chest as if that would make him behave himself.

"And what concern is that of yours, my dear?" Her mouth hung open with the full weight of her dropped jaw. "Hoping to catch many flies, are you? Please do close that mouth."

A scoff lodged at the back of her throat, Astarion's snip of undue lethality had her swallow it. The man who had been next to Ofelia choked on his laughter, while the other woman sucked her lips inward. Quivering with the threat of a giggle all her own.

A shrill ringing then blared from overhead. Ofelia didn't blink, though Astarion's head snapped back to gauge the source of the unholy shrieking, bracing himself for what was no doubt an aerial strike from this worlds version of a Harpy.

"Oh, oh honey-it's okay, it's alright." Fussing like a doting mother, she dropped a hand from his chest to squeeze his arm. She softened her tone in attempts to make her explanation less patronizing. "It's only a bell, it's used to let everyone know lunch is over, and it's time to get back to class."

Blinking, his gaze floated back to find hers, digesting her words with labored understanding. "How very... unpleasant."

She concurred with a solemn nod. "Mm. No shortage of that in a high school."

With lunch coming to a close, they watched as the students shuffled out the cafeteria - all the while the relevant, supporting cast scrutinized them with just suspicion - before the two were left alone at last.

Ofelia's palms resettled to the hard planes of his chest, afraid the moment she let go, she'd lose him again. Caught in a surge of questions still unanswered that gnawed at her with anxiety, it still wasn't enough to distract her from his hair.

Soft white curls held hostage by pomade, the up-swept tips looked as if they'd crunch between her fingers if she tried running them through.

"So, our tadpoles sort of work and sort of don't, we know that much." She began. "Where were you, by the way? I expected to see you first thing, I mean I was literally right behind you."

"As did I." He twisted to point to the Cullen-Hale table, a few feet away beneath the windows. "The next thing I knew, I was standing over there, swarmed by a group of... oh, I don't know, nymphs? Unnervingly attractive but utterly inutile, the lot of them. I overheard one suggest they fetch some Carlisle fellow. Do you know who that is?"

"Yeah, I know who Carlisle is." Ofelia snorted despite herself. "Uh, they're not - they're vampires, Star."

His mouth opened and closed several times, with only the sound of stalled breath. His gaze then narrowed.

"You told me the only vampires in your world were the fictitious sort."

"Okay, so... I don't really know how to say this in a way that'll make sense, so... I'm just gonna give it to you straight." She sighed, before then reciting her deduction as best she felt she understood it. "I think that portal stuck us in the middle of a movie from my world. That's why people think we're Bella and Edward, they're sort of the main characters of this one."

Licking her lips with a straight face, she took to brushing his shirt for lint that wasn't there. Astarion stared at her, his expression unreadable.

When finally he next spoke, it was a question; in the form of a single word.

"Movie?"

Ofelia froze.

Oh... right. Oh my God.

"Uh... so... my world has these things, they're like, plays? But on a much larger scale. They're captured with cameras, kind of like the one on my phone that I've shown you before, but a lot more elaborate, a lot heavier duty. A bunch of actors are directed, their scenes are recorded by those cameras, and then those recordings get...-"

She noticed her hands raised in vague gestures, as if somehow accomplishing what he words failed to convey. He looked at her like she was crazed, but otherwise stayed quiet.

"-stitched together, to create sort of a play that you watch later. On a screen."

She never had to explain what a movie was before. The confusion on his face didn't express whether or not she had been successful.

"Are you suggesting that none of this is real?"

"I don't know! I mean, I don't think so? But...," her fingers slipped back up his chest to hook around his collar-bone, feeling the weight of him. His body rigid, and as cold as she knew it to be. The cashmere of his shirt buttery against her palms. "I don't know, it feels real."

"C'mon Astarion, what's the worst that'll happen?" He snipped, in a feminine warble to mimic her. "Honestly. I should have expected as much."

"Yeah, yeah," she pulled away from him with a wrinkle of her nose. "I was wrong, and I'll never drag you through another mysterious woodland portal ever again. There, happy?" Hands balling to fists at her hip, she then harped. "And I don't sound like that, by the way!"

"What now, darling? We just pop on back through to the other side? I don't even see the bloody thing!"

"I know, I know-," she waved, looking around the cafeteria to see if one hadn't materialized while they bickered. "-there's gotta be one somewhere. We just have to find it."

Another horrendous noise jolted the vampire out of his skin, and his head whipped to try and source it. Brows drawn, he pointed to what was surely a foul beast by the way he sneered.

"What the hells is that?"

Ofelia followed the direction of his finger through the closest window, to see an old conversion van, whose body was more rust than paint. It's muffler evidently sick, it lurched with a grinding wheeze, a black plume spluttering from the tailpipe.

Her lips quirked, about to toss out something cute like oh, that's like a horse, but metal! Before she could, it rumbled away, revealing the mirror hidden behind where it parked.

"Oh! Look!" Identical to the first, it rested against the trunk of a tree. Unassuming as it was out of place, the ornate frame glimmered from the streaked sunlight breaching the cloud cover, as if winking at them. "Wow, that's lucky."

Astarion's gaze narrowed with a click of his tongue. "Hm. A suspicious luck, as it were."

Astarion and Ofelia both turn to look at you.

Nestled within his armchair sat before a crackling hearth, Raphael guides his spectacles down the bridge of his nose. A similar, unimpressed look reveals itself beneath the flames flicker, as the tip of his finger finds the last sentence, keeping his place in the story.

Really, my dear. That's just lazy story telling.

Ofelia's impulsivity kicked into overdrive. "Okay, let's go-,"

"Darling!" He chuckled, more rueful than merry. "Have you already forgotten the days lesson?"

She threw her hands up in surrender. "You got a better idea? I'm all ears!" She waited, allowing him just a few moments to stew. "Unless you want to stay here and deal with getting cock-blocked by Jacob for the unforeseeable future."

"Jacob?"

"Yeah." She crossed her arms over her chest. "The werewolf."

He stiffened. "There are werewolves here?"

"Yes sir."

He rubbed circles into both temples, his eyes squeezed shut as he groaned. "The mirror it is, then."

"Listen, if it was the way in, then it's gotta be the way out, right?" Ofelia grabbed his hand before beginning to walk backwards, leading him towards the exterior exit.

He allowed her to pull him along, though his frown didn't budge. "Right..."

"We should just, scope it out, at least."

Once at the glass door, Ofelia turned and pushed it open, met with a gust of chilled air, damp from a fresh rain. Propping it up with her free hand, she stepped over the threshold, only for her shoulder to rebound with a pop, when the hand she tried to guide out refused to follow.

"Are you quite mad?" He scoffed, recoiling at her continued attempt to pull him out with her. "Need I remind you of what happens to my kind upon sun exposure?"

She blinked at him. "Uh... but the tadpole-,"

"-offers protection in our world, yes. From which we are far removed."

"Well-," she stammered. "I mean our connection still works, sorta, so why not the protection?"

"I'd rather not blister beyond recognition in effort to test that theory, if it's all the same to you."

It then struck her. A memory unlocked from the depths of her youth, back from when she had watched any of the Twilights last.

A giggle fought it's way up her throat, one she strangled just in time. Though it tweaked her lips to a smarmy grin, gradual and giddy, such as a child with a secret. She pressed her lips together in attempt to combat it's domination, but it deepened nonetheless.

His expression contorted in a mixture of weariness and skepticism, his eyes narrowed to slits.

"What."

"Uh-well," she choked on a rogue snigger that escaped from the prison of her tightened throat. "Listen, you'll be fine. I promise." She forced her face straight. "The uh, rules for vampires are pretty different here. The sun won't hurt you."

Eyes bulging, he gasped in either disbelief, or excitement. Both made her feel sorry for him, and the misguided envy welling at the center. "Impossible."

"Come on, trust me." She tugged his hand in a way that crushed even his weakest bid for retaliation, and drew him out onto the wet blacktop. "You know I wouldn't push you if I thought you'd actually get hurt."

With a death-grip on her hand, he stepped out into the daytime, and seized. His face screwed around a glower, eyes sealed tight. Ofelia sighed as he remained locked.

Steeling himself to the consigned fate of frying from the inside out, in what was sure to be a fantastic display of charred skin dissolved, and an acrid stench. He waited.

And waited.

The two of them stood there, waiting hand in hand, for his impending demise. Before he peeked through one eye, and then peeled open the other.

There was no smoke. No flames. No split flesh.

This all transpired beneath the shelter of thick cloud cover, however.

He cleared his throat, dropping her hand with a terse nod. His jaw tilted with returned cockiness, signaling her that their route to the mirror was permitted to resume.

They made it not halfway through the lot before it happened.

Behind a row of generic sedans and pick-up trucks of muted colors, the clouds drifted apart, and sunlight flooded through. A single ray touched down like a spot light, catching him square in the middle.

"OFELIA-,"

With the strangled yowling of a cat whose tail caught underfoot, she turned to see him stricken with bewildered regard to his arms and hands. His ivory flesh then a prism, it caught and fractured the sunlight, scattering it outward like the surface of a diamond. Or a disco ball. "W-what-?"

A seriously incensed, handsome disco ball.

"It's-," her throat caught on laughter, just barely clipped in time. "It's just what your kind does here."

"Wh-shimmer? We SHIMMER?" His lips curled in a sneer around the bleated verb. The acknowledgment of his state alone a grave faux pas he dare not utter aloud. One worthy of the fiercest humiliation.

"Mm, I prefer sparkle." She rushed to smooth over the open-mouthed scoff her light jab ruffled. "Astarion you've never looked more beautiful."

Eyes wide, his tone quivered with the full breadth of offense that threatened to spring through the splinters of his composure. Though, when she looked closer, she could determine he was more stunned, than angry in earnest.

"This is a bastardization of the highest degree." He stressed, his hands joining in with emphatic gesticulation. "We are creatures of the night because the sunlight rejects us, punishes our very existence. We, do not, sparkle."

"Uh-huh."

"Terrifying, Ofelia." His spine erect, his offense then born from her amusement to his predicament. "We are to be feared."

"Yes."

"Gods." He hissed, spitting the expletive like a foul taste. "To think I ever scorned spontaneous combustion."

She shook her head with a grin. "So dramatic."

Though the discovery posed a very real dilemma. Whatever worlds of her fiction they hopped to, it was evident the tadpoles magic was stretched thin, and by extension, so was it's protection.

They could suffer, potentially, very real injuries as per the given realms rules if they weren't careful.

Lacing her fingers with his, she continued towards the mirror. Shining even in the overcast haze, the picture housed within was muted, and grey. Sharp corners and angular structures, Ofelia recognized enough of it to know it wouldn't lead to anywhere within Faerûn.

However the idea of scouring all of Forks for a potential second mirror, in hopes it would be the one back, was none too appealing.

She squeezed her hand around his to keep them tethered. Her thought being; when they entered separately and materialized separately, then maybe, if they passed through together - they would stay together.

Ofelia plunged her free hand through. Followed by her left foot, and then her right, tugging Astarion in toe.

He eyed their dreary, suburban surroundings one last time as he followed her inside, soured with a grimace, and a furrowed brow.

"Why does everything look so blue?"

Enveloped by the glamor, it pushed them through a tunnel without end.

Anemic black and white pixelation, and the drone of nondescript white noise absorbed their consciousness, as well any and all sensation. Touch, sight, smell. They simply melted into the current as it swept them up, and carried them along.

It took a lifetime. It happened within fractions of a second.

One moment they were standing in a damp parking lot in a mid afternoon Forks, Washington, and the next, it was late evening.

Alas, not late evening in the comfort of Faerûn. A possibility accepted before they tumbled down the rabbit hole, it was one greeted with the same amount of vexation from Astarion.

Until he laid his eyes on Ofelia, that is.

A storm raged in silence as it poured from the black of a midnight sky. Wind howling, rain drops streaked the foggy glass panes, as cracks of lightning tore through the cover of night.

Ofelia's nose twitched against the odor of must, stale and undisturbed. Masking the chemical, and medicinal that laid in wait beneath, until it slipped through and rushed her with her next breath. A stagnate, innocuous odor to a room she had yet to recognize. Metal structures and cold, tactical equipment, inimical with desaturation.

Her third breached her immediate proximity, as she was then pulling the notes of wet grass and soil through the cracks around the doors, and windows. The pungency of Earth as the rain stripped it clean.

Every inhale was dizzying. Her lungs stretched around aviolei that tingled, as if strengthening with every gulp of air fed. Forceful expansion. Necessity. Perfecting. Able to scent something different, and with startling accuracy, from each pass that sifted through the tangle.

Her eye focused to a spot on the wall before her without the conscious effort on her part to do so. An amorphous, faded stain no larger than her pinky nail, it had drawn her attention like it was a gaping hole punched through the drywall.

Her skin prickled, feeling colder than she'd ever been. A heart pumped a natural rhythm behind her breast, though she felt chilled, as if not a lick of warmth wove through the attached arterial structures.

She felt... new. Her senses heightened, more precise, though she wasn't yet adjusted to the fine-tuning. Flooded by everything at once, with no real sense of navigation, or control over the input. An erratic burst of panic threatening the steadiness of her heart, her next inhale saw it eased just as sudden.

The aroma of rosemary musk, a gentle hand outstretched to a spooked filly. She breathed him in deep, until the brandy burned a trail down her throat, and warmed her stomach. She could hear the measure of a slower palpitation thudding from Astarion behind her; harmonizing the wind and the rain beyond the walls, and the far off thunder closing in with every rumble.

Her nostril flared beneath its piercing as she continued to inhale his signature from the air, like a sedative to quell her agitation. She never thought scent could be so powerful. Ushering it in by the lungful until they ached against the depth of him, heady and unrefined.

A yet unidentified tang bubbled through it. A cloying, tinny undercurrent.

Ofelia continued to sniff the air for any and every last trace of him, until she then faced him, as following his trail spun her around to where he was seated. Knowing he was near from the start, it didn't prevent her exhaled relief upon finding him. Not to mention the satisfaction on a theory proven correct.

Entering together saw them reemerge together.

He had been watching her. Curiosity still lingered in the fine lines of his face, suggesting a weak hunch denied. He stood up to meet her as she closed the short distance between them, each taking that moment to size up the other.

A plain, black t-shirt clung to his figure. His curls limp and lengthened, the strands held to a grit in the style of late 90's, early 2000's grunge. A far cry from his typical presentation, she couldn't deny it was one that suited him. Long, elegant elf ears were noticeable in that they were nonexistent. Gone again were the ethereal points of cartilage that should have jut through his lax mane.

In the absence of proper dark, Ofelia noticed his eyes were stripped of their hazy smolder. The lighting muted and dingy, it was only in a flash of illumination from lightning did she notice they weren't red at all - but golden.

Astarion got a good eyeful of her in that same streak of light, and once his eyes adjusted to their new, dim environment, satisfaction split his grin wide.

"Oh." He breathed with palpable approval, his words purred a heady velvet. "I quite like this one."

Her bronze complexion and glossy locks untouched, they fell to a blunt edge just above her shoulders, and tousled to purposeful disarray. Glancing down, Ofelia was greeted by glistening black that swathed her curves.

In clinging latex from the neck down, a body-suit shone like wet ink in the light, and dissolved into the dark once touched by shadow. In tandem with the onyx of her hair, she'd blend into the cover of night, should she want to move through it.

Just as any Death Dealer should.

Like the shock of a rogue wave breaking over head, Ofelia then understood where they were. Why she felt misplaced in her own skin.

And oh, for all it's ruthless discomfort, Selene's suit hugged Ofelia's figure like it was actually made for her instead.

Her fingers explored her full figure, newly packaged in the sleek exterior. Astarion's eye traced along with her trail, a hot leer searing shameless his wake.

"Oh my God, we're in Underworld!" She bounced on her toes in a way that jostled her breasts to distraction. His grin turned lopsided as it grew.

"I've no idea what that means." The strain of the corsets top around her chest notwithstanding, Astarion's ogling bulged with agony and appreciation in equal measure. The cut of her neckline plunged in deliberate invitation, one he fast obliged. "Though, I am beginning to rethink my stance on theism."

He had long since buried the memory of arousal's pull when he was but a mortal. He had forgotten just how potent, and insistent it staked its claim of weakened flesh, and blood. He regarded the warmth returned to his groin like an old friend.

Surely at least one God existed to find himself placed in such a scenario.

The doe-eyed incredulity she flashed him regrettably went without the pink sheen of her cheeks, the reaction he loved best, before he noticed them stretch in the dawning of another revelation.

"Oh-ohhhhh, wait a sec." Tonguing her canine, she laved the tip of it against the sharpened tine she suspected would be there. "I have something I think you're gonna like even more."

To his expectant pause, her pouty lips peeled back to bare her teeth in full, flashing him her fangs with a playful grin.

His eyes enlarged, so gradual it could almost be missed; his pupils blown wider and wider, as if two splotches of ink spilled onto the irises.

If a dial-up tone piped from his ears, Ofelia wouldn't have been the least bit surprised.

Reaching forward to cup her face with a single hand, his thumb swept over her upper lip to rub against the tooth as it glinted in the luminescence. As if the physical contact would be what ensured him of their legitimacy. It pushed back against his press solid and slick, seeking to prove itself genuine with as much eagerness as he employed in testing it.

Dragging down it's length, daintier and smaller than his own, it was no less lethal. The tip snagged against his pad in it's exploratory graze, not enough to break skin, but enough to express that she'd be able to sink them into the meat of his throat with ease.

To mark him as hers, just as he had done with her so many times before.

Feeling the weight, the sting of her little fang - Ofelia's fang - roused a deep ache to tingle from the complimentary scars puncturing the side of his neck. One that yanked in tandem with the low, dull pulse threading through his groin.

Earth boys are easy.

"Oh..." rushed from him, low and breathless.

A surge of pride with how taken he was by her fangs, her gaze wandered to his parted lips, and that's when she noticed it. The top row of his teeth, blunt. His canines without their signature ferocity.

"Ohh... Oh! You're Michael!" Her pointy smile drawn into abrupt worry, she pulled away from his hands, whipping around in search of the gold framed glass. "Oh we gotta go."

"What? No, wait-" He whined, clutching at her wrist and forearm while stepping backwards, receding to a dark corner. "Must we rush off this very instant?"

"You don't understand, we need to find that mirror and get out of here, they're hunting you specifically."

That made him take pause, though he continued to tuck them against the wall. "What's so threatening about some mortal?"

"Because he's not- you see, he's..." she stumbled through the holes in her memory, though the way he dragged her into his body, with a smirk of one who wasn't really listening, worsened her stutter. "I-It's complicated, it's a whole thing. But it's been a minute since I've watched this one- I don't know where in the movie we are, which means we really, really should be going."

"Don't tell me you've lost your sense of adventure now." Through an exaggerated pout he protested, tugging at her arms childlike and incessant. "Need I remind you that is how we've ended up here, after all."

She groaned. "Astarion-,"

He could feel her resolve weakening, her struggle against his hold begrudging, yet calmed.

"Come and play, little vampire." He dropped his voice into his chest, a smoky octave that pulled her stomach down around her knees. In a purr that was both coaxing and needy, his eyes shone like golden embers. "Bite me?"

"What-,"

"Just one bite." He urged, doing his level best to be suave and silken, when really the thought of Ofelia latched at his neck and gulping had him woozy.

"I-," her body must have been every bit as committed to the role of Selene, for even just the thought had her gums itching around the base of her protruding teeth. Her stomach writhed in the beginnings of an aching, voided hunger. A curl from which broke free to reach deeper, a flicker of arousal then stirred to full pelvic flutters. "Star..."

"I want you to know what it's like." He pleaded, now all but whimpering in his desperation. "Please? You cannot tell me you're not the least bit curious."

"I don't... I-I-,"

His palms closed around the small of her back, leveraging her to press flush against him. "No need to be shy, Felia... I'll guide you through it."

Everything in her warned against stealing such an indulgence, but she couldn't find it within herself to resist the temptation. A vampire's blood-lust, she was fast discovering, was a difficult lure to raise above.

Cupping her face, he swept his thumb along her cheekbone nurturing, the weight and tenderness in his gaze reassuring the anxiousness in her own. Dispelling every last, remaining trace of retaliation, as he melted her into him by his touch.

Where he was warmth, and yearning, Ofelia was a raw nerve. Sparking and crackling electric within his hold.

Her very irises jolted him, fierce and imploring; an unending, soulful hue of umber.

Those orbs of hers that many a time prior pinned him rigid, and zipped through his being crown to sole. That roused a brief, but salient squeeze to twitch around the organ in his chest, one long since dormant. A trick of his haunted mind, that the twinkle in her eye alone was enough to make him tick.

Those very eyes that were then washed away with a blink.

Ofelia as he knew her stood trembling before him, and when next she peered up at him, he was bore into by a brilliant shock of tourmaline blue. A shade unlike he had ever seen, they seemed to pulsate with energy. The tips of her fangs peeking from beneath her lip as it quivered.

A fledgling huntress succumbing to her needs, the sort Astarion was all too gleeful to lure out in full. Still, she shook in his grasp, reaching for him to paw at his shirt with coltish fumbling. Skittish in touching him, in taking from him something he offered without constraint.

"Oh, my sweet girl. I know how much you need it." He cooed, admiring the magicked quality in which her eyes glowed beneath her heavy lids, and lowered lashes. "I know how it must ache inside."

His silver tongue gilded his insults and seduction alike; be it sharpened or sultry, his words were chosen with care, and wielded to devastation. Where Ofelia was concerned, that tongue of his was well-versed in her weak spots. Having sourced her exploits long ago, all he had to do was press into them.

"You've always taken such good care of me, let me return the favor." His finger-tips swept across her chin, before nudging her upper lip to get a good look at her right fang again. "Let me teach you... let me show you how good it feels."

"You really... have a way of... making it sound s-so," swallowing a whine, she leaned into his touch as he rubbed the ripple of gum around the root of her canine, stimulating it to throb for him. "Hedonistic."

He chuckled, a smoked baritone that curved down her spine and coiled between her hips.

"Oh but my darling, it is." He guided her hand down below his waist. Molding her smaller palm around the stiffening bulge, he gasped at the contact. "An aspect you are far more familiar with than most."

Ofelia, at times, liked to tease him for his yapping. Though now she could have thanked all the Gods of both his world and hers, that he was so taken with the sound of his own voice, for it was all that kept her anchored to the moment.

With a whimper, she groped him with a gentle pressure and quivering hand. Saliva pooling around her tongue, her gum line pulled against her flexing bite, tight and tender.

"I saw you scenting the air, you precious thing. You could smell that I was near." He delighted in how unfocused her gaze fluttered, needful as the arch in the small of her back that fit her front to his. "Something else as well, no? Something new?"

The underlying fragrance to his familiar musk, the thick spice of ambrosia, was the blood pulsing hot in his veins.

"I always wandered what it might be like, to guide a spawn through their first time." He mused aloud. "It really is such a delicate moment... almost virginal, wouldn't you agree?"

Somewhere, deep in the clouded recesses of her rationale, there was a spark of insolence that wanted to roll her eyes, or goad him for how overt his rambling. But she was already too far gone. Locked in some sort of trance by how demanding the hunger washed through her.

And he could see it.

Her eyes dialed to the pulsation of his carotid beneath fair skin, the quickened beat of his heart. The tempo of blood flowing through it, as it lulled her subdued. She licked her lips, all but nicking her tongue against her own fangs.

Swaying on her feet, the nagging anticipation puppeted her forward, as her mind blanked. As unacquainted with her strength as she was her improved senses, Ofelia's movement mimicked a foal wobbling through her first steps. The sight clenched around his borrowed heart.

Sliding down the wall to catch his weight on bent knees, he steadied her against him as she pushed to her tip-toes, craning her neck to get at his. The first puff of her breath to his skin warped his vision, swimming and speckled. Throat raw, it stripped the velvet from his voice, oozing from him much more ragged, and feverish.

"Close your eyes, and steady your breaths. Let yourself feel it."

Her tongue darted out to swipe over the sinew, pulled taut from how he stretched it for her, granting her easier access. A quiet moan escaped him before his lips pulled apart in a grin, jaw slackening. Another moan lingering at the back of his throat, the quick lap of her tip over his scars strangled it coarse and stuttered.

Licking a dainty, wet trail over his warm flesh, he felt her breaths quicken with her chests constricting. Nuzzling and nipping, she sought his vein like a newborn rooting at her mothers chest, precious with inexperience. Impatient. Fumbling, and eager.

"There you are." He swallowed thick, crooning, "That's my girl... if you still yourself, and listen, you'll find it... give yourself to instinct, darling."

Ofelia's ears roared with the vacant blood circulated by her galloping heart. She sniffed and whimpered at his throat, struggling to still herself against how loud her inhuman perception fed her new information. Every scent, every sound, every sensation, all vying for her attention. Astarion must have sensed it in her frustration.

Long, dexterous fingers knotting at the back of her head in a tender squeeze, he maneuvered her into place, the tip of her nose crushed to the exact patch of skin she sought. Warm and soft and thin, the strength of his aroma buckled her knees and closed her throat over. Her fangs buzzed with how they ached.

Once she sunk in, and his blood bubbled up against her gums, her vision exploded white.

A low, breathy groan of his hitched against her lips before it hummed out into the air, encouraging her to continue. As she began to pull, disjointed and hesitant at first, she eased into him once both hands joined to cradle the back of her head. All ten fingers thread her raven locks, mussing them further in his euphoria.

"There she is..." he sighed, dropping his head back against the wall. He pet her hair, resting his eyes while she suckled. "Take it all, little love. As much as you desire."

His taste was indescribable, and Ofelia couldn't seem to get enough. She siphoned from him like she had lived an existence starved. Every swallow was divine, but it only teased satiation, instead of granting it.

Through her daze she became aware of his hands, abandoning her hair to explore down her body. One only went so far as scuffing her by the nape, more so to keep her still, instead of pry her off, while the other dipped low. The pads of his fingers gliding over her black glossed curves, to settle at the apex of her thighs.

If ever there was an entrance to be found, it didn’t stand a chance against her cunning rogue. A slight pull, followed by a tug, Ofelia was then unzipped between her legs with a seam in the suit that not even she herself knew existed.

A deftness that carried over, no matter who he impersonated, or what world they were dropped off in. His spidery digits helped themselves to her heat, widening the opening of the suit with his knuckles to give himself more room.

The instant he brushed her slit, feeling how hot it was to his press, how slick, he felt her stutter at his neck in a keening whine. Wet and wanting while she sucked straight from his vein. He groaned back at her.

"You're wet." A declaration knotted thick from the back of his throat, his heft gave a stiff kick against the binding denim of his jeans. "Oh, aren't you a treat."

Her fangs popped from his neck as he began to swirl betwixt her swollen petals with his middle finger, up her seam before sinking within her groove. The hand at the back of her neck twitched in re-adjustment, lining her back to his new set of punctures.

"No, darling, don't stop." He sounded as strained as he felt, his wounds stinging in neglect to the exposure of the air.

Not needing further dictation than that, she reattached herself an inch lower so she could steady her boots flat beneath her, planted to the ground. Though not before she soothed the ache of his first wound, closing the holes with the pink of her tongue, and the onset of coagulation.

A vampire for all of fifteen minutes, she was a quick study. Astarion would be remiss to not pay due credit to how well-suited she was to the role of nocturnal mistress.

Never in his wildest, unbidden fantasies had he ever considered this turn of events.

Ofelia, his plucky bard who traveled both time and space, a vampire.

Latching herself at the throats of the unsuspecting and seduced, turning her innocent charms and syrupy-sweet approachability as a means for satiation, and survival.

Of course none of it was real, not really. Both to his disappointment, and gratitude. He couldn't imagine condemning her to such an existence. The selfishness in him could have kept her for an eternity, but the intrusion of guilt was not one of which he was strong enough to stave for long.

Her next bite choked his groan, throaty and huffed. His index finger joined in his toying, spreading the drizzle of her honey around her swollen sex, and dipping the full width of two fingers to prod her entrance. It twitched against them in frantic coercion to edge inside, to ease the sore emptiness with his stretch.

Her grip was like a vice, though with how sticky and needful she was reduced made his intrusion as near to seamless as possible. Her cinched velvet convulsed in her haste to accommodate him, penetrating her molten core to the joint of his first knuckle, and then to the next, as he worked them in.

Once hilted, he gave her but a moment to settle the slender protrusion within her, before he hooked forward. Grazing the spongy patch inside that made her flinch and howl like a woman possessed. She bucked into his cupped palm, a little tilt of her pelvis as she rolled herself into his hold, the crook of his neck muffling her pinched whine.

Her fangs burrowed in a searing sting that pulled a hiss through his grin. It was in that moment that he began to thank each and every God whose name he could recall.

Coaxing her apart, feeling the deep, steady pulls in tandem with the strength of her wrapped around his digits. He withdrew to just his first knuckle, before pumping them back in, an attentive rhythm in and out. Spreading his fingers as he passed them through, pushing her tightness to a less suffocating fit.

By the fifth time, his thumb had sought her sensitive pearl, firm and raised through the drapes of her womanhood. He swiped along the sticky shine with an initial pass that was feather light. Her nails scratched raised welts to his skin through his t-shirt, lifting to her toes once more to better rock into his hold.

Fingers curled within her heat, he worked to knead her ache, to rub her neediness from the inside, while he traced her bud in similar persuasion.

Her mind near to blank, her tight ridges popped his knuckles from the joints as she stuttered and stalled. Breathy, wet whines broke her suction a little more with every roll of her clit beneath his thumb. His noises were no less obscene, sighs lower than she'd ever before experienced.

Ofelia was penetrating him, unrestrained in her submission to the sanguine hunger he appeased, and so he moaned, and crooned accordingly.

"You're so good for me." His sigh misted into the stillness, rumbling and heavy. Soft and coarse all at once. "I've got you, sweetheart."

A low spasm wormed between the points of her pelvis, radiating outward to burrow down to her sex, igniting fire that ravage her in its path.

A new release, for a new version of her. It licked it's way through her increased sensitivity, demanding her offerings of his blood that she drank, his essence she stole. And in return she was gifted a newfound understanding of what he bore, salty and saccharine. An existence exiled to a perpetual ache, that chasing gratification only worsened. The hole widened, but never filled.

A rebirth in the raw, her mouth painted red and her eyes rolled back to show veined whites, and nothing more. When she blinked them back to place, they ignited brilliance like blue solar flares. A tender ache that pooled low in her stomach, it unfurled in a heavy wave throughout her lower half.

Her cream drizzled from her petals to his fist, soaking the grooves the peaks of his sharp knuckles made, as he stretched her two fingers wide, and continued to slither in deep. Riding her through it while she pulsed against him, her swollen nub humming and content.

He had never made her come quite like that before.

She collapsed into his chest, gulping air into her heaving lungs. Her nose twitched to the bombardment of her pheromones now on the air, and the spike of his pre-come, musky and unmistakable. Her head swam against an orgasm that, even once it rolled through, the shock waves still held her hostage. Volts of static that sparked and ricocheted throughout limbs so weighted they felt dead.

Was this what it was like for him every time? The wash of sensations left her raw, and overstimulated in their own right. It was a wonder he could function around the smells of their sex permeating the air, let alone shake off the rigors of an earnest coupling.

Her new hunger for the time appeased, as she mewled at his bloodied neck. Licking every last smear from her swollen pout, tonguing the small punctures she'd gnawed into him, and the droplets just beginning to dry.

Pulling from the plush of her heat he worked taught once more, he stuck his fingers past his lips to suck them of their sheen. The conduction of his thoughtful susurration buzzed against her cheek, still using him for stabilization.

Even here, even afflicted by vampirism, she still melted against his tongue warmed sugar and vanilla.

"W-we should probably," she swallowed, her upper lip catching on her lengthened fangs. Her pupils burst wide against the blue that ringed them in electrification of her lust, "p-probably find our way out."

Astarion's smile curled around his knuckles before he dragged them from his mouth. Tilting his head at her, he then wet the pad of his thumb before using it to wipe at the corner of her mouth.

Eyes still glassy beneath heavy lids, she parted in a wordless request to suck it clean for him. A throb twinging in his swelled groin akin to the sensation of a dropped stomach, he pushed the bloodied digit between her lips.

"After you, my little vampiress."

They traversed mirrors at a rate that made his head spin.

Passing through the tunnel of static and a near ear-drum splitting, distant whine. Astarion was sure he'd hear the noise even in the very deepest of his trances from thereon.

Most hinted the possibility of being the correct one, only for them to be plunged even deeper into Ofelia's fairy-tales.

He experienced no less than three instances and iterations of a character that, according to Ofelia's insistence, was the most famed in her world.

A soul shackled by shadow, one forced to endure the torment of loneliness eternal, his tale subscribed to the formula of his long lost love returned to him through the reincarnations of unattainable, mortal women. On the cusp of seduction, only to dart out of his clutches, like a fawn startled by a snapped twig in the wood.

Though the narratives were faithful to their source, he found that each re-telling seemed to luxuriate in their respective styles.

The first held great appeal for Astarion. Rich, sumptuous attire, sexual tension and tragic yearning, as thick as the fog that blanketed the grounds.

Delightful in it's stewed drama and style. A distinguished man of taste, this Dracula character was.

Astarion came to her in a bed at the crest of night. In a shifting gown so diaphanous, he could trace the full silhouette of Ofelia's curves with his eye. An exercise that almost distracted him from her words of warning.

It didn't help his cause, of course, that he blipped into the world on top of her.

A silken mane of elegantly coiffed waves draped his proud shoulders, he pinned her beneath his weight. She pled for him to listen through breathy pants of his name, fingers knotted in his hair as she writhed. The bedding held her captive to his descent of hunger, and the salvation he promised in the acceptance of his bite.

That was, until she broke free from the haze of his spell, and hollered at him to pay attention. Informing him that there was not just one man standing in his way, but five. One of which being a fiance, and all of them would soon burst into that very bedroom to, in her own charming turn of phrase; "clean his clock."

"Gods, more vampire hunters?" Muffled against her throat, blushed raspberry from the whiskers grown around his mouth, and pricked with love nips. Red and tender, dotting along her humming pulse. He pulled back with a shake of his head. "Does this Dracula never get to rest?"

She gasped underneath him like a wild thing; the pinning of her hair askew, her lips kiss swollen, and gaped. "Not really."

He picked himself up from the bed, yanking her out by the wrist.

He took the time to shed the black silk of his robe and thrust it around her shoulders, unwilling to allow even the roaming eye of one deranged to feast upon the sight of her. Ofelia's tan voluptuousness naked and veiled thin was reserved for Astarion, and Astarion alone.

Stalking through an asylum for the insane was one they hesitated to linger. One ruthless in its sobriety. It spurred them with haste until their mirror was found, tucked away in a supply closet.

The second was a curious one.

A world drained of it's color, he entered this realm and was welcomed by stark black and white. He found himself the dapper figure darkening a doorway, and she the virginal beauty left by her lonesome to the shadows, and what lurked within them.

Ofelia laid in another bed, dolled up and tucked beneath the covers, as if linens would shield her from the lust that would soon ravage her about the neck. One bared in beckoning. Coaxing him hither, with it's intoxicating thrum. Her tresses, still rich and raven black against the pale satin pillows, stopped just beneath her chin, and framed her face in soft ringlets.

Left vulnerable to him in the clutches of her slumber, he then approached, with a flourish of the high-collared cape that fluttered with his every step closer. Astarion climbed onto the bed, the mattress giving beneath the heels of his palms, and knees, as he caged her within them.

The oppressive sultriness, and lavish intricacy of the former was stripped away. Almost purposeful, the bareness of the surroundings bore a sort of quiet romance. It felt familiar, and classic, and in some ways, far more intimate.

He pressed kisses, soft feathering of his lips, up along the ridge of her jaw, and then to each cheek. Kisses that stressed longing, a longing of which Astarion believed both he and Dracula suffered in mutuality.

Whether sleep had truly claimed her, or she was just committed to her role, he felt Ofelia come to life under him, as her mouth curved to a smile beneath his. Her fingers, lovely and nimble and still lacquered pitch, swept up the underside of his torso, exploring the crisp lapels of his tapered waistcoat, to the bow-tie around his neck.

Winding her arms around his shoulders, she melted into the bedding to his urging. Meek and malleable, her surrender absolute.

She looked so pretty to him then. A boyish phrase lackluster when compared to an exquisite creature such as she, but his mind drew blanks to anything more complex, or poetic. Her beauty weaponized to disarmament, he failed her with words befitting her perfection, so he relied on his touch instead.

A touch fine-tuned to her plush body, features full and unapologetic, and decidedly all woman, unhindered even by the contrast of her youth. And how untried she maintained.

She was just so... pretty. Dangerously so. Even without the bounds of her hair, or the pinch of arousal rouging her warm, honeyed skin.

And those wide, eager eyes.

How they glinted up at him, in complimentary yearning. Their depth bursting expressive and clear, even with their lack of pigment.

With the first tease of his fangs scraping up the sinews of her neck, she wove a beautiful melody of his name against the shell of his ear, hushed low to keep it between them. An invitation to sink, to sup, to bound her to him for an eternity, and beyond.

Or for as long as they suspended in the enchantment of grayscale, and string quartet instrumentals.

The next was met with far less grace by Astarion.

A twist on the infamous Count, this one saw him bald and bug-eyed.

Long, spindly fingers with claws cut to an inefficient length. Horrific fangs stuck protruded like buck-teeth through his pale gums. Ill-fitting and comical, they caught on his lips, and muffled his speech.

Ofelia rested in a narrow bed of pretty white lace, and looked a gothic vision. Locks of ink long and whisping, they fanned glimmering around her head like an endless halo. Leaves and flower petals scattered the bedding, a ritualistic ward of protection. Quaint in its ineffectiveness, it no more protected her pretty neck from his bite than rose petals dressing the table of a romantic spread.

Upon their eyes falling to each other for the first time, he couldn't help but leer at the swell of ample bosom, almost spilling from the flimsy gown as it heaved. Her modesty guarded by no more than a thin, sheer dress that rivaled the first, it would have almost, perhaps, distracted him from the grotesque depiction he embodied. Pieced together with what of himself he could discern through touch.

Until he realized the heaving of her chest were shakes of laughter, not lust. He thrust his finger in her face as he haunted her bedside.

Ofelia was laughing.

Astarion looked like the parodied caricature of an otherwise sophisticated breed, and Ofelia was laughing.

"T-This-," he spluttered, "-this is an aberration! Your kind is fortunate we do not deign their miserly existence with our presence, and an undue fortune at that! The mockery that's made of us - appalling, Ofelia! - We are ridding ourselves of this, this lampooning at once!"

Oh, it was a good thing he couldn't see himself.

He ripped away from her with the anticipated degree of theatrics, stalking along the wall to continue his bluster. Whirring passed the window a skulking silhouette, something just beyond the glass stopped him in his tracks. His shouting mounted in its crescendo. "And why are there so many bloody rodents!"

"Uh, I think," now sat up in bed with the blanket pooled in her lap, Ofelia wiped at the corner of her eyes with as much discretion as he could muster. "I think you brought them. I think it's supposed to symbolize the spread of your pestilence-,"

"With RATS?" He whipped back around, hunched and snarling. His features darkened as his glower sunk them deeper into his face. "Is that what your kind believes of us? That we languish in sewers? Ghastly! Not to mention factually inaccurate! Rats. As if- and how pitifully unimaginative!"

"It's... it's just-," her voice quavered around the pesky howl of laughter that kept trying to leap from her throat, stilting every other syllable. The more winded she became, the uglier his scowl grew. "A little artistic liberty-,"

"Artistic liberty indeed!" He all but shrieked. "I do not look like this! Not even the most monstrous of us look as such!" His pacing resumed. "This is vile! This is slander! I will not tolerate a moment more!"

It took everything in Ofelia not to begin wheezing.

Her cheeks numb from an ear to ear grin, she couldn't help it - and she did try. "I mean I always sorta loved this one-"

"You wretch!" Hollered with the same shrill warble of nails to a chalkboard, the echo thundered against the walls of the tiny bedroom. "I've half a mind to leave you to the rats!"

Vanity was truly his Achilles heel.

And Ofelia thought he took the sparkle news bad.

Needless to say, the mirror to leave Werner Herzog's rendition of Nosferatu was found in record time.

Astarion grunted as his back made contact with a hard, sticky ground, and none too gently. Scrambling to get his bearings, he blinked away the disorientation. The imperceptible haze of static that enveloped him each and every tumble through the mirror ebbed into darkness. Darkness that then morphed into surroundings still as foreign as the last, though infinitely more chaotic.

The stench of blood, sweat and sex. Though his senses seemed muddled. So much gore it nearly choked him. Thick on his tongue with every ragged breath, as it was clotted on the back of his throat, the scent was still more subdued than it should have been for him.

His ivory waves as he knew them gone, his new white shag was cut to blunt tufts that framed his face with no style to speak of. Sprawled out on filthy wooden floorboards, he laid there in head to toe black; belted trousers, a vest, and blazer. The white cotton of an undershirt peeking through the only contrast. Eyes an autumnal shimmer yet again, he looked largely the same, save for the thin tendrils of black ink spiking up the left side of his neck.

Something was slotted into his right hand, something sleek, that held a decent weight.

Conflicting screams of agony, and inhuman yowls the symphony of the surrounding hysteria, whatever establishment he had, quite literally fallen into, was smack in the middle of a slaughter. Bodies collided, careened into walls, and impaled on broken furnishings.

Grizzled, thuggish men, bloodied and battered, fought half-naked women. Serpent eyed, fanged women, who tore off limbs and sliced open throats with the expended energy of plucking wings from flies. Frenzied, animalistic streaks of sequin, and vibrant-hued satin on rampage.

Lubricious gore striped up the walls and pooled across the floor, spraying around him with the force and incessance of ocean spray in a typhoon. Blood, and a mysterious green substance that glistened with gem like luster. It crinkled his nose all the same.

One man crawled along the ground to his left, with one of his legs ending half way to the knee in an abrupt pulp of stringy flesh, and the viscera he trailed behind. Just beyond him on top of the bar rail, a blonde vampiress with feathers in her hair crouched over the upper half of another male corpse. His jugular - what was left of it - pinched between her jowls, she shook and sawed her maxillae through the remaining threads of connective tissue that held head to body.

Occupied with what Astarion assumed to be the lower half of him, a half-rotted creature with her human features melted to exaggerated monstrosity, gnashed through the meat of his thigh. Red spurted where she clamped down in a sickening gush of the femoral artery, punctured like a bloated water skin. The longer he looked the more his distaste grew.

Manic music jarred his senses above the commotion, the acoustics suggesting the source was close. He then spotted a band of men; their eyes wicked and faces gnarled - certainly nothing human.

And the leader, his instrument - a lyre?

Oh no, on second thought, it bore suspicious resemblance to a torso. One with the head still attached.

Astarion's features held taut in a grimace. "Well now that's just tacky."

The odor of excessive gore wet and hot against the surfaces it painted, and the stench of muscle exposed to the air through shredded flesh, it all should have been unbearable to his twitching nose, but it wasn't. Just as the raucous cacophony around him should have needled his ear, with how sharp and exact and demanding each, isolated groan and howl should have pierced. Instead, it all melded together into the background. One, great incongruous dissonance to the bombardment of his comparative dulled senses.

That was to say, every sense, except for his sight.

It followed the length of the tan leg attached to the foot pinning him by his chest, bare and arched, a dark lacquer painting the nails. Dragging all the way up to a luscious hip - her hip - dipping in at the waist, and scaling up over the peaks of ample bosom in confirmation that it was indeed Ofelia standing over him. As scantily clad as he had ever seen, even in fantasy.

The constellation of freckles smattering her soft abdomen, plum velvet and gold creased high on her hips in a pair of underthings that pulled one of his brows high. Only for it's pair, a salacious brassiere that pushed and propped her full chest, drew up the other to join it. A gold bangle in the likeness of a serpent coiled around her right bicep, while a thick band collared on her clavicle.

Chaos raged around them. Glass shattered, furniture crashed. Claws shredding flesh from muscle, and muscle from bone. Bodies gurgled and cartilage snapped. The heavy, sopped thudding of limbs torn loose shadowed the screams of those preyed upon, and the screeches of those who preyed.

Through it all, Astarion could do nothing but stare up at her.

A broken, labored sound seethed through his slackened jaw. One drowned from her ear, it rumbled against the ball of her foot, still planted square to his chest.

"Gods above and below." A rush of breath that left him deflated in submission, whistling through his teeth. "Aren't you just a hot meal for the starved."

"Don't even think about it." She warned, eyes wild and tone suffering. "I die in this one, like, almost immediately."

"Oh?" Indignation shot through him in a scoff. "Who'd be stupid enough to destroy a body like yours?"

Her gaze flattened. "You."

With only a dozen questions poised at the tip of his tongue, a tousle beside him encroached on his periphery. A bloodied blur rolled towards them along the ground; a trucker sacrificing his forearms to shield his face from the howling, topless vampiress stuck to him like a tick. A slobbering, jagged maw ripped apart the space of her face where her mouth used to be.

Ofelia leapt back off his chest just in time for him to duck out of the way, twisting himself prone to push up off the ground.

"I'm a bastard." He asserted, once back to his feet. Grabbing her by the arms on instinct, as if to anchor her still. The revolver still comically gripped in his unacquainted hand.

Motion from their left whirling through the air, Astarion pulled her into arms he wound tight around her back. Jerking them both aside, clearing them from the path of a broken pool cue launched like a javelin.

"Yep-," chirped through a cheeky grin, the rest of Ofelia's words ground to a squeak into his chest, as he once more tucked her back into him. Shielding her from a geyser of booze and shards of glass, as a bottle of tequila exploded against the table at her back. Shrinking into his collar, more breathless than before. "Just not a fucking bastard!"

The reference woeful as it was wasted on his ear - a fact that continued to delight her, as it remained unchanged - he flinched as a loud crash sounded from behind them. The sickening, gooey thump of the bartender heaving the split-in-half remains of what used to be another trucker, to the upended chairs below like two fleshy bowling balls to makeshift pins.

Astarion, twisted in their shared embrace to observe the grotesque display, muttered in Elvish before then turning back to face her. "I don't suppose you know your way through this debauchery?"

Bouncing her gaze, bright and frenzied, through all the ruthless dismemberment proved her search for the mirror futile. Until a vampiress pounced on the back of an unsuspecting biker, and drove them headfirst into the side of the bar, to reveal the store-room door behind where he once stood.

"I think through there, maybe." Astarion followed the direction of her pointed finger with an arched brow. "I mean, it was sort of important in the movie, and it's nowhere out here."

A severed head spun sideways at their feet. The emphasis of the mirrors absence out in the fray with them was received as both a blessing, and a curse.

"Well, no time like the present, as they say." Detaching from Ofelia just far enough to collect her hand, Astarion shifted in front of her, as he began to lead them through the brawling thicket.

Their destination halfway across the room from where they stood, they didn't make it more than a few feet, before a hungry, unoccupied vampiress caught wind of his presence.

Leaping before them, she hunkered low, wound and ready to spring forth. To see him spurt and splutter at the vein, one ripped open beneath the tines of her bite. Fangs bared, and slick with anticipatory drool to do that just.

Spine stiffening beneath his jacket as she and Astarion sized each other up, Ofelia peeked out from behind the cover of his body. The vampiress spit at him in a hiss; something warped and ferocious, the disconcerting warble of two different voices competing for ascendancy.

On instinct, Astarion hissed back.

With all the clipped, deadened ferocity of a domesticated house cat standing down a mountain lion.

If Ofelia was even just a hair less panicked, she would have giggled into his jacket.

Tonguing his canines as a bite failed to extend from his human maxillary, Ofelia stepped out from behind him. With a hand sliding up his arm, her tone gentle and meek as she informed him. "Oh, honey, you're... not a vampire in this one."

Having deduced as much on his own, he couldn't help the disappointed sigh. Not from being stripped of abilities he was more comfortable in, but because he had made himself a fool in doing so.

"No?"

"No." She guided him to step behind her with an arm swept around his abdomen, another role reversal of their dynamic in which he was tickled to oblige. "I am."

The taller vampiress, whose face clung to the shreds of her human mask by her wild eyes and manicured brows. Everything from the nose down was grotesqueness, split wider and salivating. Dropping to a stance as if ready to pounce.

Ofelia straightened her shoulders, and yowled. Fierce in domination, one final warning to back off.

The two were not locked in a power struggle for long. Ofelia's eyes roiled, live fires from her smokey-eye smudged sockets. Two fangs elongated from beneath her burgundy glossed lips, inviting a challenge in which she was already the victor by status.

A mysterious splatter of glistening green splattered against Astarion from another vampiress, driven straight through the heart by a splintered chair leg beside him. He didn't bat an eye. Too enraptured by Ofelia, fearsome and feral in front of him. Claws drawn to defend the territory whose belonging was then made clear.

The vampiress yielded, expressing to Astarion there was something of a hierarchical structure they heeded, one that saw Ofelia's newest embodiment high up, if not at the very top. She slunk away, unblinking and still poised on the offensive.

Ofelia spun to face him on a bare heel. Her long, smooth tresses fanning in a dark satin wave about her golden shoulders. A victorious, self-satisfied pout quirked her lips, the serpentine glow of her irises ebbing back to the warm mahogany he knew best.

Astarion stood there with his expression frozen still, on the verge of lopsided gratification, blinking once to let her know he was still in there.

She planted fists to the high-cut straps of her bikini, and cocked to the side. Destruction and bloodshed ever rampant, the two were then on pause. A bashful grin worked its way across her face beneath eyes gleaming with incredulity.

"What?" She laughed. "Don't tell me your impressed."

He closed the short distance between them, standing toe-to-toe to stare down the bridge of his nose at her. "I forgot how... freely blood-flow circulates for mortal men." He cleared his throat through a smile Ofelia almost would have categorized as sheepish, but she knew better. "Had you attacked your sister just now, I believe you would've brought me to full-mast."

Her grin widened, though her hand flew to swat her his chest. "You're disgusting!"

"I am, quite literally, only a man, darling." His brows knit together in unabashed appreciation, wandering across the curves and softness of her figure without urgency. Lingering at the plushness of her breasts, and abdomen bared on display for his indulgence.

Had she been capable of blushing, one surely would have stained her from the flush of heat that burned beneath her surface. More powerful still, that he eyed her up with the same shameless lechery that was Seth Gecko's signature, unbeknownst to the man who now took him over. The honeyed haze smattering his leer was almost endearing.

Interrupting the moment and demanding their attention, was guttural aggression then barrelling their way. A hulking brute, jowls slippery with fresh crimson, his beady eyes clouded with murderous singularity. A few men rushed him from each angle, bouncing off of mass just barely contained by his clothes, stock and muscle as weighty and rigid as laid brick.

He repelled their attacks with the indifference of a horse tail batting away pests, needing little more than one hand at a time to cave in a chest, or crunch perpendicular angles out of spines. Subhuman growls and labored huffs snorted through a wide nose at them, a bull in preemptive charge.

"Oh dear." Astarion's smile thin, his nonchalance put-upon. "He doesn't appear very happy to see me."

"No." Ofelia shook her head. "I'm pretty sure you shot him a bunch, I don’t really remember.”

"I see."

With a long suffering sigh, and a ripple of his jacket above rolled shoulders, Astarion braced himself, still turned in towards Ofelia. He thought once more to protect her, however in the rules of this world, and their exchanged strengths, he was the likelier of the two to be accordianed.

Her eyes pinging around them in rapid search, the glinting silver dangling limp at Astarion's thigh sparked her to action. Flattening her front against him to steady herself, her hand molded over his firm hold on the handle of the revolver.

Thrusting his arm up and forward, her finger curled around his - still wrapping the trigger - she squeezed her left eye shut while the tip of her tongue breached the corner of her pout. Bewildered at her abrupt and purposeful manipulation, the beginnings of his objections were swallowed when she choked the trigger.

BLAM-BLAM-BLAM

Unloading three square into the beasts chest, the recoil bucked into her each time. Dropping to his knees, the lumbering vampire fell forward with a wheeze, and a crack upon impact. Downed, but only for the moment.

She knew this story, after all.

"Come on-," Ofelia huffed, turning on her heel. When he didn't budge from his wide-eyed scrutiny of the smoking barrel, she yanked at his arm, her tone admonishing. "Come on!"

He gasped, shaken loose from the shock enough to stumble after her.

"What was that?"

Ofelia continued to pull him through the sanguinary explosion, reaching the store room door to burst through, and hurry him in after her.

Leaned against the dusty cobbles of the far wall, and crowded by crates, there the mirror stood erect. A beacon that beckoned them nearer with its glint. The chaos forced out by the door she slammed shut and bolted, it shook and creaked to the pounding it received from the other side. The horror choked and muffled.

"Let's go.” Grabbing his hand, she marched them towards the looking glass.

Even passing through the mirror, his gawking introduction to the modern marvel of fire power persisted. As did his haunting curiosity she refused to humor further.

"What was that!?"

They fled from the blood soaked, vampire nest that was The Titty Twister, before then transported to the middle of a packed dance floor. Strobing lights of candy-colors, and bodies, very much alive.

Hormonal and young and far too many per square foot, one tanned and nubile was cradled in his arms, a woman's back leaned to his front. When Astarion came too, with relief he realized the backside he was stuck to was Ofelia's.

Suffocated by body heat, and so many colognes and perfumes they mashed together in an indecipherable musk. Rainbow hues glanced off the haze of smoke and turned it sentient; an oppressive smog, one that wafted around her with confident nefariousness, an extension of him, as they both settled on her, around her, inside her.

Hugging her tighter, he tipped his chin to drag his nose along the side of her face from cheek to hairline, inhaling her deep. The whipped vanilla cream of her adrenaline, her untouched purity, and her repressed desire for him to spoil it, searing through it all.

A turquoise collared blouse tucked into a purple skirt, it almost reminded him of what she'd been wearing when they first met, save for a significant absence of blood spatter and tatters. He smirked against her temple as he gave it a firmer nuzzle, rocking their joined hips in wide, slow circles. Around and around and around.

"This particular combination of colors are, in a word, unsightly." His rumble at her ear pulled the skin of her neck pebble. The sensation tightening ruthless beneath the fan of his breath to the sensitive exposure of where it sloped to her shoulder. "But I'd be remiss to focus on such a triviality, when I have you this... pliable."

Eyes fluttering shut, Ofelia dissolved further into his influence, though she had little choice. A stifling heat that filmed over her being, like a sheen of perspiration on a hot summers day. The titillation was undeniable, however uncertain the source. He rocked them around again, his gyration slowing, as his palm slipped from her hand to sink below the hemline of her skirt.

"Star..." a breathy stutter, it stretched to a moan as his palm hiked up her parting thigh with authority. Her skirt draped the thick of his wrist as his invasion of her emboldened. "W-we really should be looking for-,"

"I don't see our mirror anywhere." His other hand held both of hers tucked into her chest. Not yet brutally erect, he was well on his way. Twitching with excitement against the generous swell of her rear, flattered even by her purple disaster of a skirt.

At least it boasted ease of access.

"Y-you're not even loOKING-" her chiding clipped to a yelp, as he cupped his palm around her clothed heat, and lifted her off her toes against his chest in a slow twirl. The hem of her skirt hiked around his forearm.

One of her arms wound back around his neck, though not of her own accord. Whether or not he was puppeting her by choice, this newfound ability was not one he shied away from. Nor was it unwelcome by her.

He tested his influence over her with a flex of the invisible grasp, like the locking or rolling of a muscle. He admired it as such, as he slackened the reins at a languid pace, watching her shadow his release in a gradual descent down his body.

The tie then severed in full, she collapsed to the ground at his feet, a puppet with snipped string. Crumpled. The direction hollowed out from her shell, and his warmth stolen with it.

With a flick of her head to shake the residual fog, she scrambled to her hands and knees to push up and away. Reflexive as she bolted, though she didn't stray far; Ofelia hadn't wanted to leave him, nor his embrace, but his domination relinquished overwhelmed with relief, breaching a stagnant surface after being held under. Unable to breathe, she popped back above and gasped oxygen with a voracity that stung, having been suspended in the moment where anything and everything was denied her unless he willed it so. Even the air.

Astarion's lips curled curious and chesire, the pale of his flesh leaching the indigo and violet pigment from the lights, sinking into his skin to paint him a mosaic of confidence, and allure. Sharp features even lacking their elven favoritism, a haughty force of elegant virility he remained. Stained-glass beauty, severe and reverential.

His gaze followed her retreating back, mere steps from being enveloped into the fold of bodies grinding and slithering in pairs, before reattaching the leash. A hand outstretched to her tense shoulders, his fingers unfurled to their full length, his control once more blossoming her into a willing captive.

One turned back to face him, gliding on the top of her toe in fluid obedience, he caught her eye; glazed, and unending, a rich mahogany deepened obsidian in the absence of proper light. Reflecting back at him the desire for more. Her ache to yet be tugged along by the ends of threads, so long as they were woven by his hand.

And to his hand she retreated, unhurried and assured, despite the the thump of her heart rattling her ribs. The pretty figurine frozen in a porcelain pirouette of a child's music box, she twirled on feet whose path was preordained, she had to do nothing but succumb. To heed the lure that guided her.

Once embraced, the music changed. A high-energy, driving beat, those around them snapped to the according rhythm. Motions whipped and jerking, Astarion moved to his own.

Ensnaring her wide-eyes in the hood of his, he moved her to a melody unheard by all. Two swaying in unison in a contrasting slow-burn eroticism, to the unmilled energy crackling around them. The color caught by the gloss of perspiration beading like crystal on her exposed tan.

"Must I?" He cooed, his breath hitting against a pout he still abstained from claiming in a kiss. "Surely there's no imminent threat here."

He guided her hand down to grope his rear in a firm squeeze of the toned musculature. Twitching her lips in a shy simper, the plum bleeding across her face deepened in the dusting of her blush proper.

His hands traversed a similar path, down either side of her spine to get to the handfuls of rump that molded to his palm and spilled between his fingers. Slender and dexterous in their structure, they accommodated her curves as if her bloom had budded to his exact specification.

"Just you..." Her words wilted in his heat, attention stretched thin and hazy as he continued to tease his lips not a hairs breadth from hers. His breath a spearmint crisp that had her mouth watering, as it poised in eager obedience.

"Ah..." His smirk reappeared, and she felt his imperceptible power slither away once more.

An ache leftover, throbbing and molten in the pit of her pelvis. A press of her thighs against it granted no relief in the wake of his devastation. Ofelia crumbled into the crook of his arm, boneless, but the motion all her own.

With a quick, precise flick, he sent her whipped backward, draped over his arm, before pulling her back flush to his front. Her head lolled to bare the side of her neck, bathed in a violet hue. His finger tips ghosted over her collar to brush it aside, his lips descending for the spot he cleared.

Her autonomy yet relinquished, she jerked out from under him.

He allowed her the tease of insolence, though caged tight within his arms he kept her. A coy glint of pink and purple stared back at him, one mirrored in his drawl. "Another villainous portrayal of my kind?"

"Fraid so." Her confirmation dragging low and breathless, she lowered to her knees before him, and he let her; slinking down the length of his body in a bid to toy with him in her returned freedom, as he had done her.

A growl hummed at the back of his throat to her warm breath and gaped pout hovering before his crotch, her gaze challenging and glossy through the swirl of technicolor.

He lifted her back to her feet by their clasped hands, symbolic of their link. Though he could have lost himself in the darkened suggestion beneath her lashes if he permitted himself the luxury.

"I've never shied away from leaning into the sort." He resumed their banter, husking with a heady croon. "But then again... that does excite you, does it not?"

Ofelia, well-acquainted with this story, was all too aware of their impending interruption. Astarion swept her back into their sensual sway, not in inch of space between them. Intoxicated by the moment, and heedless to the riled brunette youth, bobbing and weaving through the thick of the crowd towards them.

"What can I say? We Earth humans are not immune to the romanticism of the brooding, and misunderstood." She recalled her new character's fate with a shudder, equal parts anxious, and envious. "Amy was certainly not an exception."

Said with the emphasis of introduction, Astarion nodded in understanding. His forehead rested against hers with smirk that worsened her to genuine shivers.

"What's the story between these two, then? Why does our brooding, misunderstood vampire want to turn sweet little Amy?"

"She's the spitting image of his long lost love."

A tale as old as time.

"I see." Astarion's amusement was nauseating, but her shivers persisted as he began to lure her deeper into the dance floor. His pace even, his intimacy unbridled. "So he must have her, then? He'll stop at nothing until he turns her?"

He twirled her around, his manipulation slight and effortless as the surrounding bodies parted. Her eyes glanced off the mirrored panels lining the far wall, catching her figure glide throughout the sea of wriggling bodies, all oblivious to the fact that her partner's mirrored image was missing. Her fingers clinging to empty air where broad shoulders ought to be. The truth of his nature hidden in plain sight.

Ofelia darted between their unbalanced reflection, and the languorous temper weighing his playfulness heavy, and intense. She exhaled shakily. "Something like that."

The kiss he had teased all that time no more than breath and a blink away, the creep of his fingers trailed up her body, and splayed across the front of her throat. His touch more resting than clutching in gentle persuasion, her pulse fluttered under his possession.

Astarion paused to admire how docile and suggestible his presence had her reduced, a moment of appreciation that sacrificed the stolen passion.

His hesitation punished, a wild-eyed and dark haired youth barrelled into them in purposeful interruption.

He pawed at the neckline of Astarion's sweater, prying him off of her, brazen with misplaced protectiveness. He growled through grit teeth, nostrils flared and glare hardened in his muster. "Let her go."

Astarion regarded him with the confusion of a wolf getting his ear nipped at by a mewling pup, unable to process that a child meant to stop him, with nothing more than a puffed chest, and yapping.

The way he eyed him through the corner of his stare with a rippled frown of disbelief conveyed as much, and more.

Charley stood his ground. Eyes blazing as his posture stiffened in defiance, ready to spring forward to defend her honor.

Ofelia sort of felt sorry for him.

With a scoff, the vampire turned his attention back to her, cradling her jaw against the crease of his palm to angle her face upwards in a kiss. Pettiness a commonality that both Astarion and Jerry shared.

Ofelia conceded, though not of her own volition. Astarions hold slunk back in, thick and impenetrable like a blanket of fog seeping across an ocean, coaxing her into his lips with the same helpless to resist.

She knew the longer their kiss went on, the nearer they drew to Charley's punch.

She tried willing the kiss broken to no avail. She tried appealing to Astarion, but her voice evaded her consciousness.

She tried telekinetic communication, of the mind that with all the mirrors they had passed through, perhaps the tadpole had warmed up to the displacement. Her hope was rewarded with the same unpleasant thwick back against the parasitic hitchhiker, like the snap of a rubber band.

They could still sense each other, to confirm the others presence, but all else was stripped away. Their Illithid connection about as effective as two fumbling for each other in the dark, grasping at the air in hopes of landing a touch.

Figures.

Proving her attempted warning wholly necessary, without so much as a blink or hitch against her lips, Astarion's hand raised to cushion the blow of clenched knuckles. Charley's punch was thwarted before it even so much as wound up.

Ofelia's gaze widened. It was as if Astarion had seen the movie before with how exact his timing, and choreography. Astarion, of course, mistook her astonishment as approval.

His fingers resting against the back of her neck - she didn't even remember when they got there - gave a twitch as he glared down at Charley.

"She's quite a bit of woman for you, boy." Astarion snarled, far more open and unrestricted with his irritation to Charley's interference than Jerry had been.

Though with just as much ease as the gentleman vampire he embodied, he slammed him down to his knees. His grip on Charley's fist so tight Ofelia could hear the cracking of bone and splintered joints even over the music. "This is your final warning to leave here while you still have a tail left to tuck."

"You can't kill me here!" He shrieked, expression twisted in the agony of a hand now crippled. Astarion sneered at the display, ignoring Ofelia picking at the neckline of his sweater to get his attention. Or get him to heel.

"Oh please, your spilled blood is not worth the mayhem." With a dramatic roll of his eye, Astarion gathered Ofelia up in his arms once he released the crushed flesh that once resembled a fist. Thrusting him away like an old toy he grew bored with.

Ofelia was tugging at his sweater once more.

"Let's go." She insisted, her withdrawal from his vampiric hold dizzying, reminiscent of a wine hangover. She shut her eyes to the pounding behind her eye where the tadpole stilled, lethargic and impotent. "Seriously, we need to go now."

She managed to guide him away, still tucked within his side, though they didn't make it much further. Charley, hot on their heels, all but jumped on Astarion's back. Prying at his shoulder to yank them apart.

"Let her go!" His cry broke through the music, before two large figures in yellow closed in both in front of, and behind them.

"I got him." The man behind Charley announced to his partner. A stockier man with bulging arms, he wrapped them around Charley and wrangled him away. Scooping up Ofelia as if she weighed nothing at all, he snatched her by the arm and forced his way through the crowd.

She tried wriggling away to no avail, fighting the encroaching patrons, and the force of the bouncer. The other blocked her view of Astarion as he stepped in front of him, though not before catching sight of the anger shadowing his pale face.

Ofelia couldn't hear the ensuing confrontation, but she didn't have to. Bracing herself, for she knew what was to follow.

Twisting around to holler for backup, the bouncer's once unimpressed stoicism erupted in blind panic. As raw and genuine as it came.

"Leon!"

Ofelia's head whipped forward and back from their abrupt screeching halt, still scruffed by Leon as he marched her and Charley up the steps, herding them towards the exit. He jerked around upon hearing his partners scream, though by then it was too late.

A single, blood-curdling howl to pierce the night, followed by a crescendo of the entire club erupting in terror.

Astarion didn't send the mans body to sail through the air in a dramatic exercise of his strength, crashing into a table for the hysteria to be triggered, though he was never wanting for theatrics.

Claws had been drawn, which he used to carve through the mans carotid, felling him to the ground a lifeless heap. A spurt of blood shot lengthwise to streak through the middle of the table instead of his corpse, in a vibrant flourish that could only ever happen in the movies.

It all happened so fast. A stampede surged her way, the entire occupancy screeching and wailing, as every last one tried to flee at once. Glass was broken, furniture was upended; people fell and ripped and climbed their way over the stair railing, themselves, and each other.

Abandoned by Leon, he charged down the steps towards Astarion, elbowing his way through the oncoming flow of terrorized clubbers. Ofelia was right behind him, scurrying in his wake as he cleared the way, before the current closed back over the trail he eked. A hand - Charley's hand - grasped at her arm to keep her with him before they were separated by the crowd, shrugging him off only by the grace of the mobs intervention.

"Amy-!" He reached for her as the frightened wall of people pushed them further apart. The doe-eyed youth called with frantic urgency, his boyish features screwed in panic. "Amy!"

By the time she reached Astarion, Leon had been dispatched; a collapsed windpipe before strewn over another table to his left. The look on her face just shy of accusatory, he raised his hands in surrender.

"What's that look for?" He scoffed as her silent patronizing held firm. "None of this is even real!"

"AMY!"

They both snapped their heads towards the second level, as the wave of chaos continued to wash Charley away. He was still groping at the air, still calling out to her as if it might yet save her. Ofelia groaned before grabbing Astarions hands.

"Yeah yeah I know, come on!"

The dance floor vacant save for the flashing of lights and some spilled drinks, they were safe from any further interruption of obstacles from finding the mirror.

Advancing upon the door to the kitchen, mid-swing from ones hasty getaway, Ofelia's cursory once-over deduced it was as empty as the dance floor, and thus a promising lead. Shoving him through by his back, she goaded Astarion inside, tumbling in after him.

Through all the steam and clatter, propped up in a forgotten corner amidst coats and spare brooms, the glint of another mirror caught his eye.

The muffled screams of laughter and a black velvet sky, twinkling with stars was held within. The nearer they drew, so did the strength of the sounds, and the scent of salt water.

"Over there." He tossed the cut of his chin in it's direction, and curled his fingers around her wrist in the same motion. "It appears as though it's another one of your adaptations, I'm afraid. Alas, our only way out is through."

Ofelia nodded, her flats scuffling along the tile at his side.

He was no longer using whatever writers-room-ingeniousness-given vampiric talents Jerry could use to manipulate her actions, but the accompanying warmth remained. A full body tingle that resisted the ebb of surrender, the sensation of his deft prodding and stringing lingered like phantom touch. In it's wake, adrenaline spiked; cold and throbbing in contrast, overwhelming her autonomy with urgent pressure.

Astarion didn't need such power over her. Not to make her dance with him, and certainly not to seduce her. But the sensation was pleasant. As if warming her to pliability to better receive his charms.

His arms snaking around her in coiled possession, his breath fanning against her bared neck. A kiss to her pulse, a stake claimed before his fangs sealed the deal.

She didn't remember the cheesy cult smash to have been so heavy in the tension between Jerry and Amy, but that was not to say she disapproved.

Jerry!Astarion, in trendy 80's sweaters, residing in a gorgeous antique manor, on a sleepy suburban street in any town, USA?

There were certainly worse scenarios they had been swapped into.

Ofelia could have stayed in 1985 Rancho Corvallis, California.

She really could have.

They were still together, and this time still hand in hand. Though alone, they were not.

Even more crowded than Forks High, and the nightclub from where they just escaped, throngs upon throngs of youths flooded the width of the boardwalk they then found themselves.

Ofelia blinked around in trying to collect her bearings, calmed by the tight squeeze of Astarion's hand in response to hers.

Jostled by children streaking past, and straggled by their parents, as weary as their calls to "stay close" were swallowed by the piped carnival tunes and hawkers. Couples, linked arm and arm or about the waist, funneled into the shops and stalls, that lined the far side where they stood. Bathed in the phosphorescence of neon that drew prospective patrons nearer.

The air was mellow and comfortable, and the smells even more familiar to her now that she was smack in the middle. Fried Oreos and funnel-cake in stale oil. Artificial cherry and coconut syrup from the snow cone stall to her left. The faint musk of pot lingering beneath it all.

Ofelia dropped her investigation to the broad wooden boards beneath her feet, before she then swept off in the distance, to see the ocean rolling in towards the shore. Just beyond the glow of neon in the far off dark, obscured to an undulation of foaming ink that stained the sand.

The squeal of her gears sparked through the fog of disorientation. Ofelia knew this boardwalk. She knew the merry-go-round, it's colorful horses forever in their prance, and the whimsical lilt their speakers crackled, shrill and uncanny. Ofelia knew the imposing wooden coaster, as it creaked and groaned to the cart-full of screams hurtled along it's track.

And then she looked to Astarion. Her widening survey cracked open with amusement. Her laughter breached containment, not that she fought all that hard to keep it caged.

"Oh. My. God."

His tongue sought out his canine, as was habitual now, a quick and dirty determination if he was man or monster. Greeted by a familiar, razor tine jutting from his gum.

Oh, he was still a vampire alright.

His snow white curls were now teased to even taller, distinctly 1980's height. The ends much longer as they reached down to his shoulders, glinting silver jangled from his left ear-lobe. A long black jacket hung from his shoulders, loose and boxy, while a swathe of mesh stuck to his physique in a contrasting fit. The ivory of his torso speckled through like the stars in the night sky above them.

His brows furrowed - as if they had yet to relax from the perpetual scrutiny that held them hostage - he looked down at himself. Confronted by garish beige trousers, and the poor excuse of dusty gaiters all cobbles together with knee-pads. Pleather knee pads, no less.

His face rose back up to hers with such severity twitching his snarl that it sucked her lips inward. Her body shook to the cerise that nearly glowed in the dark with how they roiled. Only her body shook with anything but fear, which simmered his glare all the more murderous.

"Not a word." He warned, mortification rumbling low and hoarse. "What ghastly plane of existence have we been condemned to now?"

Ofelia tamed the threat of her cackle to an inoffensive, shaky puff as she calmed herself. Clearing her throat of any lingering blips of a giggle for good measure.

"The Santa Carla pier, 1987." Her head a swivel to once more drink in the nighttime bustle, she huffed a laugh in utter disbelief. "Holy shit."

Through the cacophony of amusement rides, and dozens of conversations all happening at once, a shout pierced. A bullet ripped through all the tones blending beyond discernment, it hit with staggering clarity, and an accuracy suggesting it was close by.

A mans voice, quavering with a patience tested. The even steel barked from a master, demanding their strayed property returned.

"Star!"

Both Astarion and Ofelia perked towards it in unison.

And once she found the scruffed face of a young Keifer Sutherland staring back at them, stony with expectancy, it then cemented what she already knew to be true. Shiny, spiked mullet and all.

"Uhm, actually I think-," Ofelia glanced down at herself.

A bohemian skirt, and white camisole stitched up the middle, all sequins and gold stitching, and baby-doll frill. Her raven locks drew a curtain over her face when she bent her neck. Wild and frizzed, teased to a height that rivaled Astarion's.

"-that's me."

"What?"

Lured back across the sea of strangers between them in time to catch David's eyes in earnest, locking within Ofelia's triggered his approach, beginning to stalk his way towards her. The piers shadow, even in the dead of night. Flanked by Laddie on Dwayne's shoulder's, and Marco, the crowd parted for him and the entourage fanned out behind him.

Though his expression was steely, his gait was unhurried with the assurance that she'd stay put, just from the way she froze, caught by his gaze. She was able to shake free long enough to look behind her, whipping her head in a flourish of soft black curls from one side to the next.

Lifting to her toes to better see, she was frantic in her scan of the never ending swarm of faces that passed them by, yet not a single one was familiar. None the one she sought. Astarion yanked at her hand for the attention she still wasn't giving, the questions she had yet to answer.

"What are you doing?" Stealing furtive peaks to the advancing young blonde. "What are you looking for?"

"Michael." She said as if he knew exactly who she meant by the name alone.

He blinked. "Aren't I Michael?"

"No, you're Paul here."

"And this Paul, he's a vampire?"

She huffed, still unable to spy the shaggy-mane and chiseled jaw she sought. "Yes, you're a vampire - we both are."

"Oh?" His approval near instant, it then soured as she broke the bad news.

"But I'm not with you." Rocked back on her heels, she looked ahead just in time to see David no more than a foot away, and closing in with his same, lazy pace. Shiftless, but suffocating. "I'm with him."

Astarion stiffened with a scoff. Very much believing himself to still look regal; with the aqua-net endorsement on his head, and the little jingle-jangle from the small collection of costume jewelry rattling from his arms that would have put a magpie to shame.

"Why aren't I him, then?"

Ofelia murmured a soft noise of resignation from the back of her throat with a shrug. Not that she could divulge anything further, as David then sidled up to them, toe to toe with Astarion.

"What do we have here?" A single of David's brows raised. His eye slid from Ofelia's face to where her hand was still captured in Astarion's, pointed in the implication drawn. She yanked out of his grasp as if it burned.

"N-nothing, David, nothing!" She took a step forward to insert herself between them, flashing a smile she hoped was flirtatious enough to assuage. "Uhm... some guy's been following me all night. Paul was just, getting him to back off."

Both men then narrowed suspicion at her until she squirmed.

David blinked, just shy of being entirely unconvinced. Eyes flicking first from Ofelia, and then to Astarion. Observing the two in contemplative silence, a stoicism masked whatever theorizing began to spark upon catching them together.

The tension at a simmer, it then leapt to a boil when he held out his hand to her in a wordless demand she accept.

David waited for her with unnerving patience, and she glanced down at it for only as long as it took to wonder what might happen if she were to refuse.

Ofelia pried away from Astarion's side to slip her fingers into David's out-stretched palm. Her breath hitched once the length of his digits closed around her knuckles, a finality that announced his reclaimed possession.

Once satisfied with his grasp, he drew her in to him - not rough, or rushed - but with an insistent pressure, one that licked up the whole of her in a little shiver. Her obedience non-negotiable. Tripping over her feet, she fell into his chest with a little gasp, echoed by the clinking of her bangles.

The smell of his last cigarette as sharp on his breath as the tinge of iron soaking his tongue, his arm crushed around her shoulders in another display of ownership, pinning her to him and forcing the air from her lungs in the same motion. She could almost feel Astarion's eyes, red-hot and scathing, bore into the back of her skull. Forced into the passenger seat, a helpless bystander. David passed his suspicion between the two once more, the full blaze of which calming to a weak, single ember.

Bending down to hover his lips above hers, the invasion so sudden Ofelia wasn't given the chance to muffle her squeak. The wood walk behind her creaked in the sharp cant of Astarion's weight, shifting to cut in, when David stopped the kiss just as abrupt in its initiation. His attention lured to beyond both her, and Astarion.

A face still unreadable, his chin tilted in specification. "That the guy who was sniffing around?"

She craned her neck beyond her shoulder, struggling against his hold on her that didn't loosen, to then find Michael.

A few feet down the walk, his presence obvious, as he pretended not to watch them with about as much believability as he pretended to peruse the boutique he hovered before.

"Y-yeah, but he won't be a problem!" Ofelia tried to squeeze assurance into the hand she now wrapped both of hers around. "Paul made sure of that."

"Mm... good old Paul." He drawled. Angling a smirk Astarion's way, it wilted as he looked back to Michael. By the time Ofelia was the center of his focus again, any hint of mirth, even one sardonic, had faded to a memory. "Why don't you let me be the judge of what I should, or shouldn't worry about."

Ofelia felt herself nod, forced to the role of spectator in her own body from David's intimidation. Breathing down the neck of her insolence, not that it would do either her, or Astarion, any good to act on it. David's leer, frosty blue and somber, suggested nothing but that she cow to his whims like a submissive kitten. Like she was supposed to.

To her head bobbing, a gradual smile split his scruff. An expression that both warmed her with some sort of contrived elation to have pleased him, and relief at having done so convincingly.

"That's my girl." Condescension wrapped the words and tied them in a bow, like the gift receiving such praise from him was. He stroked a single, firm swipe along her knuckles with his gloved thumb, before dropping her hand to do the same across her face.

Fighting the flinch at the touch, her body reacted once more heedless to her will. His pressure was as light and sincere as a lovers, but a hollow ownership prickled cold under the trail of his finger-tips. Her tremble at his touch only seemed to please him further.

Lifting his attentions from her, back to Michael, still loitering a few feet away under the guise of shopper instead of stalker, David cleared his throat. Unphased for the moment, Ofelia could read in the ripple of muscle beneath his jaw, and his hooded stare, that he was non too pleased with having her pursued. Least of all by one he sensed as a genuine potential threat.

His tone lowered exactly one octave as he raised it, giving the order over his shoulder while his sights remained to the youth shadowing them. "Let's go, boys."

She peeked over her shoulder to Astarion, her eyes widening in a strained, non-verbal plea to follow. To play along.

A concession made with a grudging scoff. A scoff that caught David's attention.

His fingers curling around the base of Ofelia's spine in a way that pulled her hair, he halted, turning to raise a brow at Astarion with a bored gleam in his eye. Bored, while inviting the challenge to his authority at the same time. "Something wrong, Paul?"

Astarion, in an impressively in-character display, snickered while raising his hands in an exaggerated display of surrender. He held it for as long as David stared at him, waiting for friction that didn't spark.

They then resumed their trek further along the boardwalk. That was, until Ofelia caught sight of a mirror.

Tucked down the far end of an alley, pinched between the comic book store and the rest-rooms, it's frame glinted even from within the murk of shadow. Beckoning her to their next destination like another ripple of neon against an already saturated strip.

Thinking fast, she tugged at the strap of her bag until it slid down her arm into her palm, before letting it clatter to the walk as they strode past. Spilling the contents to scatter across the rickety boards, a tube of lipstick was kicked even further away from the oncoming traffic of unaware feet.

"Oh!" She feigned, stopping with immediate relief at feeling David pause along with her. Her shoulders plucked free of his arm. "I'm sorry, I'll just- I'll only be a second."

Dropping to her hands and knees to begin scooping everything back into the fabric satchel, she tossed her head to look up at him as he loomed above her. He cocked a brow at her, wise to her ruse, though having nothing substantial yet to press her about. A chill zipped through her like static-shock.

Get a grip, he's not even real.

"You go on ahead, I'm - I'm right behind you!" She nodded with a smile, before then twisting around in a show tracking down where her lipstick had escaped to.

He didn't answer her aloud, but she heard the screech of the walk give to his heavy boots. He pulled away, languorous, and maintained that pace as it carried him further ahead. The lurk of her bright-eyed, blond shadow retracing with his every step that distanced them.

She huffed a heavy breath she didn't realize she had been holding.

Shoving the cosmetics, and the little container of tic-tacs back into her bag, she stole glances over her shoulder to make sure David and the rest were still none-the-wiser, while she then looked around for Astarion.

She found him across the way, tucked within the alley against the building to his right. Waiting for her to join him, as the mirror stood propped and waiting at the end of it behind him. Either having spied it when she did, or pieced things together when she spilled her purse. With one more stolen glance to the lost boys, Ofelia abandoned her spill before scuttling across to reach him.

The mirror glimmered in the rainbow vapor of the boardwalk, though it's reflection couldn't have been more opposite.

A flaxen, muted hue, it revealed pale stucco and stone. A spiral staircase of well worn wood, and wrought iron sconces aglow with candlelight.

"That almost looks... familiar." Astarion eyed it up and down, growling as he fought the wavy mane that insisted on flopping over into his face.

Ofelia brought her hands to her hips as she popped them to her left, the motion jingling with the beads and charms that dripped from her wrists.

"Only one way to know for sure." Unwilling to give in to her hearts flutter of premature optimism, she tucked her chin to her shoulder, and stuck out her hand for Astarion to take. "Ready when you are."

Grabbing her with a tight hold, he tossed his head back, shaking the hair from his gaze with no shortage of flamboyance as he did. With a sniff, he collected whatever of his sophistication survived Paul's cheap polyester and accessories.

"I'm quite ready to be rid of whatever barbarity has befallen one of my foremost features."

No sooner did the words leave his mouth, was he then marching them through the mirror. Yanking Ofelia in after him by the hand.

Unwilling to subject himself to 1987 Santa Carla, or Ofelia's cackling, for a moment longer.

"Being human in a world full'a vampires is about as safe as barebackin' a five dollar whore."

Astarion gave a start, as he peeled his eyes open.

The rasping croon from behind him lilted in the rhythm of an accent he couldn't place, unlike any he had ever heard previous. When he turned to face the man of whom it belonged, his shoulders fell.

More unusual clothing, too unusual to be of his world. Though the familiarity of the crossbow hanging from his right hand was a welcome sight.

A shorter, wiry man, his years were evident in the way they streaked through his papery skin; at the corners of striking blue eyes, and around his thin mouth, through his copper beard. A strength maintained despite his age, in the prominent angles of his bone structure.

"This is home, Doc. But none of us are safe."

Astarion grimaced. Lovely.

Rubbing his tongue across his top row of teeth, the sting of needle points raked the flat of the muscle in his sweep. His relief sighed.

Still a vampire.

He looked down at himself in assessment, greeted by a black, three piece suit, his shirt collar splayed with it’s missing tie. An ensemble that both looked, and felt, as expensive as the polished loafers on his feet.

Next running his fingers through his hair, he exhaled in more quiet relief. The strands still longer than what he was used to, and lacking the wavy coif that was his signature, they were no where near the ratty straggles the last jaunt had butchered them to. Not to mention their silken quality of being free of whatever heinous product had coated them stiff and gritty.

If he never experienced 1987 again, it still would have been too soon.

He shuddered against that nightmare, still entirely too fresh.

Now here he stood; a sharp dressed vampire, in a world where the alleged hierarchy saw him at the top.

A promising start, indeed.

Ofelia appeared alongside him. Onyx hair simple and straight, it touched her shoulders. Without her even having to affirm for him, he knew. He could hear the gentle thrum of her heart. Eyes, big, brown and mortal, aimed his way.

A disadvantage that spelled potential disaster, if the mans grave caution was to be believed.

"Where are we now?" He hushed, tossing his eye over her shoulder as the crossbow wielder shifted behind them.

Ofelia hesitated, reaching into the haze of estranged, distant memory to aid them. "Uhm, my vineyard-well, I mean my parents vineyard, technically."

Astarion stepped forward to peer over the rail of the balcony where they stood, drawn by the buzz of activity below. A hive of human refugees, haggard with exhaustion and fear, he could taste its taint from the air with the same strength it flared his nostrils.

A hushed urgency fell over them while they busied themselves, stealing furtive glances his way. They must have been able sense his presence among them, like the rolling in of a dark cloud on a sunny day. His blood-red embers burning holes through the dimness, their fears confirmed.

"Aud, Ed." The man with the crossbow called to them from the stairs. He jerked his head in a motion for them to follow, before descending himself.

Astarion looked from him, back to Ofelia. She met him with a nod, and small smile of reassurance, signalling it was safe to follow.

"Yeah, that's us." She whispered, pushing away from the railing. "I'm Audrey, and you're Edward-,"

His face twisted as if about to be ill. "-Oh Gods, not again."

"No no, this one's totally different." She giggled. "It's not a love story. It's more action-drama, and it's actually one of my favorites."

The sick look lessened, but failed to disappear. "Oh?"

Her face alight, though she kept her town low, she all but whirred with enthusiasm. "Yeah! So they kinda flip the script in this one. Vampire's are the dominant species, and humans are the ones that have to be in hiding."

Astarion nodded, stepping aside and motioning for her to go ahead of him down the steps. "So that man made no exaggeration, this place is dangerous for you?"

She tossed her head over her shoulder, angling a grin at him that wormed beneath his skin. "Aw, you're worried about me." He rolled his eyes with a groan, and ripped from her a short burst of a cackle. "Well, don't be. You're technically in just as much trouble here as I am, so."

His trudging scuffed the tread with creaks in the wood. He sent his eyes upward. "You'll excuse my feigned surprise, then."

Ofelia ignored his sarcasm as she often did, before continuing as if he hadn't spoken in the first place. "Yeah, see, because humans are almost extinct, the vampires begin to starve." A cutesy, empathetic shrug picked at her shoulders to match the nonchalance of her tone.

He uttered a thoughtful noise from the back of his throat. "I see... realistic, I suppose." A concept he had never given thought to, being as though he couldn't propagate the spread of affliction himself. "That man, he called me doc."

"Yeah, you're a blood doctor." She informed through a smirk once they reached the bottom of the stairs. The significance suggested in her enunciation perked his full attention, just as she expected.

"Is that a fact? Interesting." He murmured. "And this doctor, is he quite wooed by Audrey's perseverance and," he arched a haughty brow in emphasis towards her curvature, on display, "generous attire?"

Ofelia looked down to the sight of her nipples stiffened through the guazy salmon of her top. She grabbed the zippered lining of her jacket, and pulled it tight to conceal them. "Perv." Grumbled, through a wry smile she was unable to wipe away. "And no, to answer your question. As a matter of fact, they're not romantically involved at all."

"No?" Though just a hint, his disappointment made her smile widen.

"I mean there was some chemistry, they definitely seemed to care for each other, but nothing hot and heavy. There's a scene where she fills a plastic cup of her blood for him to drink out of. It was so sweet!" She gasped, eyes then wide with dawning realization. "Oh hey, we did that too!"

He snorted. "Was this not the inspiration for that?"

"Uh, no not really." She crossed her arms, pushing up her chest in a way that jiggled every last vestige of irritation right out of him. "Edward wasn't suffering bouts of hormonal anguish from feeding off of her. She was just considerate."

Loitering out of the way at the base of the steps, Astarion tossed his chin in the mans direction. Across the room from them, he was locked in hushed conversation, pausing just long enough to gesture towards where they stood. An observation that pricked the back of his neck, his tone as wary as his stare. "Who is he?"

"His name's Elvis." She began. "He used to be a vampire too, but he found a cure. That's why he and Audrey bring you here, they need help replicating it."

Astarion hummed, both brows reaching his hairline. "Is that right?"

"Mhm."

"How does he manage that?"

"Direct, unmitigated sun exposure." Ofelia felt him gawking at her before she so much as looked his way "Something to do with kick starting the heart, I don't remember the particulars."

Astarion remained unconvinced. Brows once raised in intrigue then furrowed incredulous. "You're joking." He scoffed. "The sun is what turns them back?"

"Yup. Edward helps them set up the experiment right here." His suspicion only cemented itself in the deepened lines of his face. "No, seriously, it worked! Edward became human again."

"Yes, well, forgive me for not wanting to partake in that myself." His lips rippled tight around his low delivery, glancing back to Elvis. Skittish, though in the same manner a wolf hunkers down before an oblivious hunter, too busy surveying the trees to notice what's laying in wait in the brush. "The moment we're able to steal away, I should like us to put as much distance between ourselves, and here as possible."

"Yeah, it seemed intense, if not... painful." Ofelia scrunched her nose in agreement. "Anyway, the guy who plays him actually plays another vampire in Shadow of the Vampire. That's a really good one."

"Oh?" He regarded her with a justifiable degree of skepticism. "What's that one about?"

"Well, so with Nosferatu-,"

He silenced her with a raised hand.

Furrowing his eyes shut, as if to spare his senses the offense of so much as having to see the name mouthed, let alone heard. "Utter that name in my presence once more, and I'll make certain to use your phone when next Scratch pesters me for a game of fetch."

Another bar, limping along with a molasses pulse as black shrouded the Earth, the rest of the world put to bed. Its cheap neon winked, and the failing florescence above strobed the walls in shadows through the blades of ceiling fans, whining in sluggish rotation.

Blood choked her senses with a first sharp intake of breath, the stench of wet iron flaring her pierced nostril, before stinging her throat. Tensed and poised as if already on the offensive, Ofelia found Astarion across the table from where she stood.

Their eyes locked; as vibrant ruby and glistening from beneath the hood of his stare, as the puddle of sanguine at her boots, crawling along the dirty floor with the same indolence as the fans.

He sat slumped in the cracked leather of a booth, thighs kicked apart with the body of a woman crumbled at his feet, still warm. A gun holster slung between his legs in crude innuendo, his wild mane was teased to a comparable height as hers.

It took her a moment of frantic recollection before the pieces clicked together. Her eyes sought Astarion's once more, bright with understanding, she was then interjected by the deafening blare of a nearby shotgun.

It shattered the fraught silence of the dive, stealing her impending identification of the movie with a shaky exhale. Astarion jerked against the blast, the red of his eye no more than rings lining his pupils.

She supposed during the next quiet moment, whenever such an instance might present, that against her better judgement, Ofelia would finally explain to Astarion what a gun was.

Heavy booted feet scuffled along with the jingle of spurs. A young, black haired man in sunglasses and dirty leathers wheezed with laughter, as he clapped the back of the other young man. The one who had just absorbed buckshot to the abdomen.

"It's a kick, ain't it!" Severen chuckled, steadying the wounded young man, Caleb, as he looked him over. Patting down his chest, and pushing his jacket out of the way to assess the damage.

A bloodied gash chewed through where his large intestines used to be, visible through perforated flesh, and his torn shirt. Though he was still standing, still breathing, regardless of how labored.

Caleb shook, glassy eyed and screwed in pain. He wrenched breath into his gasping lungs, in between the unintelligible splutters that shivered through his lips. Anguished, frightened, and crying for his mama. A vulnerability which only made Severen that much more amused, pinching Caleb's chin.

"Hey, y'look like fourty miles'a rough road." Severen teased, greasy-haired and riled, as he slid his arm around his shoulders. "Why don't you sit this one out?" He drawled, herding a distraught, limp Caleb by his collar towards an open bar stool.

Rapping Caleb on his slumped shoulder, Severen pushed away with a debauched grin that bared blood stained teeth. "I'll take it from here."

A cocky stride sidled him around the bar, his sight's set to the bar-tender, who had just blown the hole through Caleb.

Shoulders lax and shades tipped, Severen taunted him, posted beside the shredded corpse strewn over the jukebox, harmonizing his bellow with the twang of a country ballad. "Oh, yoo-hoo!"

Stumbling backwards behind the bar, the man fumbled to re-load his shotgun, widening the grin that split Severen's bloodied maw. The nearer her stalked, the more dropped shells clinked to the ground at his feet.

A timid blonde with a baby-face tucked herself into Astarion's shoulder, hiding in the tatters of his heavy duster. Ofelia eyed her right, to see a small boy with a dirty face and tired eyes propped up on the table. Unbothered by the promise of ensuing carnage.

Astarion peeled his eyes away from the lascivious theatrics of Severen with the same hesitation to do so of one witnessing a car wreck. Realigning his attentions to the more pressing issue of just where exactly they were, he appeared to be most perturbed of all by Ofelia's sort, bushy hair.

Fearing the worst, he reached up to his own head, as his fingers were met with tall tufts sticking outward in every direction.

He growled. "1987 again?"

She merely shrugged with insouciance, keeping a close eye to the loud, young man as he leapt onto the bar rail to continue his torment.

The heat cut from Astarion's simmered loathing. "Really? Two in the same year?"

"I got a new name for you," Severen dropped his tone chest deep, thickening his accent. Fresh crimson, slick and drooling, soaked his mug from the nose down.

The bar-tender hollered, still backing away and knocking over bottles in his attempts to flee. Severen watched gleeful from behind his shades, giggling something deranged before divulging his comedic brilliance. "Mr. Pig knuckle!"

Ofelia nodded.

"Oh." Astarion chirped, placated from his fit with a pleased smirk to match.

Glass exploded as Severen strut along the rail, stomping and kicking shot glasses and half-emptied stouts without prejudice, any and all unfortunate enough to be in his path. Sticky with alcohol, the shards crunched beneath his slow heel-strikes, making certain to pulverize every last one.

"We're uh... both vampires here." She hushed, stepping over the corpse of the waitress on the ground, with the small of her back gliding along the ledge of the table. Her gaze unwavering, unblinking, as she kept it glued to Severen.

"I must admit, I'm rather partial to these scenarios." Astarion still paid no mind to Mae nestled into his side, though the pull of Severen's antics both lured, and repulsed him.

"Yes, but-," Ofelia winced as Severen erupted in a feral howl, before he sliced the spur of his boot heel through the bartenders neck, sawing back and forth with an unhurried pace. Blood spatter flicked and spurted with every pivot of his hip.

"... We're uhm, we're kinda the foster parents to this whole group." She tilted her head at him, gesturing to the lot around them. "Which would make us responsible for... all of this."

Fingers flexed, she waved her hand in Severen's direction, as he dropped down behind the bar with a thud of his cowboy boots, and crouched. An impressive blood spray then shot up the wall in a vertical splatter from where he had disappeared. She reaffirmed with undue emphasis. "Forever."

Astarion furrowed his brow down at Mae, cowering at his side. Then to Homer, still sat on the table with his little legs crossed. Boredom in his pudgy face, unimpressed by either the chaos, or his lack of invited participation in it. Caleb still huddled at the rail, tearing his eyes away from the scene spilling out beyond it with.

And then to Severen himself, as he popped back up. Readjusting his tinted glasses, picking the viscera out of his teeth with a nail. His undershirt, once white even beneath all the stains, was now a sopping vermilion.

Astarion cleared his throat.

"Right then." With surprising gentleness, he plucked the tiny blonde from his side, before scooching himself out from the booth. All just in time for Severen to begin moseying back to their motley troupe, the shot-gun slung over his shoulder. "The mirror?"

Latched to Astarion's chest, she felt the tang of his blood once more soak against the grooves of her tongue. She lapped with fervent strokes, nipping at the weeping slice to open it to her further.

He hissed in approval, his palms cupping the back of her head to keep her still, while his fingers flexed in her tousled mane in a guiding pressure.

Awakened in full, she peeled herself from his wound, her head hazy and chin slick. She looked up at him with a ferality of a high beginning to fade.

A dark button-up hung open to reveal the pale chisels of his chest, and the slippery bloom of red that painted down the length of it. He cradled her face, long slender fingers hooked around where jaw met mandible, before angling her back to receive his kiss. Hot and heavy and spiced with his blood, their lips parted with an audible pop as a thread of glistening red connected them.

"Greedy little pup." He chuckled, the strands or his hair mussed apart from him tugging and raking, they fell into eyes with pupils blown so wide they glinted near obsidian.

Shifting upward on her toes, her body prickled in a chill; cold and dank, it rushed her bare thighs, as she felt the short hem of her dress crawl even higher as she coiled around him. Damp, loose earth squished between her bare toes as they curled beneath her weight, and she looked down to see the plunging halter top of a baby-doll dress, the once pure white soiled by grime.

And his blood.

Thick and salty against her gums, gums that ached from the fangs that jut through the swollen ridge.

"Oh, w-we're," interrupted by a soft giggle that bubbled through her, she fought to speak against a tongue numbed passed cooperation, like when she was intoxicated, "we're back."

That pulled a single of his brows high. "Back? We've not been here before."

Astarion's gaze swept around the crawlspace where they stood, hidden in the shadows amongst dirt and wooden rafters. His eye then drawn to the two men playing unwilling audience, in a shaft of sunlight touching down into the loosely churned earth. And the writhing shadow that closed in around them.

Shadow that, upon closer inspection, sprouted arms and legs, and gnashing teeth. That slithered and swayed with the movement of cold, undead bodies twisting through it.

"Surely, I'd remember."

"No... not here." She sighed, nuzzling beneath the cut of his jaw before mouthing the hard ridge of his bone. "Different year, different people but... same story."

"Be a dear, and jog my memory?" His posture lax, Astarion was as lazy with arousal as she, though it was clear the influence of his pheromones were far more potent in her system, an observation that saw his gaze laden with pride.

Only through remarkable effort and determination, could Ofelia will herself to speak.

"Y-youre... you... y-you're him again." She huffed at her own labored speech as it slurred against the back of her bloodied teeth. "Like before when we danced."

"What the hell did he do to her?" A whisper croaked from the dark.

Astarion's head snapped to his left, to the two men watching them, wrapping their limbs tight to their bodies to keep to the rouge patch of sun poured in from a jagged hole above their heads.

The other man, an older one with a sunken face and thin, faint wisps of smoke curling from his skin, shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine." In an accent more like his own, teeth clenched around an unlit cigarette.

Little hands and a soft, blood stained pout peppered Astarion's being with neediness, dragging and mewling across his bare chest and neck. It wasn't until the older, accented man produced a lighter, and clicked it sparking, did that seem to rouse Ofelia from her daze.

Tearing her lips away from Astarion's hungry mouth, she turned in time to see the younger man working the ski cap over his head, sliding goggles to cover what of his eyes were left exposed.

Grabbing Astarion's hands, she tripped over her feet in panic, pulling them towards the open doorway to their right.

"C-Come on, we have to move." Her words breathy and clipped by mounting adrenaline, it scrambled her movements, unbalanced and clumsy. "Now!"

Enveloped in an eruption of molten flame, the younger man bound to his feet, lunging towards Astarion's heel - spun to flee in the nick of time.

Ofelia stumbled, kicking through the cool dirt, scraping her bare shins against the nosing of the steps in her clamber to climb them. With only her gut to lead them, they fled through the narrow hall, the roar of adrenaline almost enough to drown the bellow of Charley behind him. Screaming his throat hoarse, his plea of her name smoked from the fire.

"Aaammmmy!"

Astarion spurred into the appropriate haste by a pursuant lit on fire; he kept pace alongside of her with his arm swept around her back in a protective maneuver, forcing her ahead of him, regardless of the disadvantage that was her stride halved by his. The entryway corralled them to a hallway stark white, lined with a multitude of doors that look no different between them.

"Amy? As in little Amy from earlier?"

"Yes-," Ofelia hurled the affirmation from burning lungs. Each door they passed marked at the top with a little window, her furrowed gaze blurred across each for the one that might reveal the mirror, and it's mismatched reflection. "This is a more modern re-telling of the same story."

She wanted to laugh, explaining the nature of a remake as if the most natural conversation they've exchanged all day.

Astarion hummed with the nonchalance to match, as if in perfecting understanding of the niche concept, and one presented under duress.

Charley and his cries faded into the pounding of their feet against slab, the distance between them ever increasing. "And I'm who again, exactly?"

Reaching the end of the hall and rounding the corner at their left, the miraculous sight leaning against the far wall to greet them was none other than the mirror. Their next destination laid beneath it's slick, polished, facade of a surface.

You can hear, faintly in the background, Raphael's stifled scoff of resignation.

Ofelia grinned through her sluggish forward propel. The salacious hem of her tattered and grimy baby-doll whipping against her sun-soaked thighs. "Your name is Jerry Dandridge."

Less then a foot away from the mirror, Astarion halted. "Jerry?"

Granted a moment of reprieve from the still distant threat of a flaming embrace, he squandered it to parrot the name through a wrinkle of distaste. The name spat, as though it's very taste was as derisory to his tongue, as it was to his ear. "I'm called Jerry?"

Slipping her hold around his wrist with both her hands, she tugged him to the end of the corridor. Unwilling to stall their escape for a moment more, she urged him with a placative coo.

"Yuuup-c'mon, let's go, let's go."

PART 2

#Ofelia Montez #astarion ancunin #durgestarion #astarion x durge #bg3 durge #durge oc #bg3 fic

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